THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Hilde  Dietsgen  Charlton 
in  memory  of  her  Mother. 


•••• — •  -•  -  ••  " 


THE 

LADIES 

OF 

DANTE'S    LYRICS 

BY 
CHARLES  H.  GRANDGENT,  A.B.,  L.H.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  ROMANCE  LANGUAGES 
IN  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


THE  McBRIDE  LECTURE  FUND 
WESTERN  RESERVE  UNIVERSITY 


CAMBRIDGE 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1917 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


College 
Library 


PREFACE 

IN  1914  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  was  given  to 
Western  Reserve  University  to  establish  The  McBride 
Lecture  Fund,  as  a  memorial  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  H. 
McBride  and  their  eldest  son,  Herbert  McBride,  by 
Malcolm  McBride,  Donald  McBride,  Edith  McBride 
Sherman,  and  Grace  McBride  Crile,  children  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  McBride,  and  by  Ethel  Tod  McBride,  widow 
of  Herbert  McBride,  all  of  Cleveland.  The  purpose  of 
the  Fund  was  thus  stated  in  the  deed  of  gift:  "  We 
desire  to  have  this  memorial  accomplish  as  much  useful 
educational  service  to  this  entire  community  as  its 
means  make  possible.  The  method  of  expressing  this 
service  now  appearing  best  and  most  useful  to  us  is  by 
lectures  given  in  whatever  part  of  the  city  of  Cleveland 
and  with  whatever  manner  of  presentation  may  seem 
most  convenient  and  best  adapted  for  the  kind  of  audi- 
ence desired  to  be  reached.  We  desire  that  the  range 
of  subjects  should  be  as  broad  as  possible  covering  so 
far  as  practicable  all  fields  of  human  knowledge  and 
activity,  whether  cultural,  scientific,  civic  or  political. 
We  also  desire  that  whenever  deemed  advisable  the  in- 
come of  the  memorial  should  be  used  to  defray  not  only 
all  expenses  incidental  to  the  delivery  of  the  lecture,  but 
also  such  publication  of  the  contents  of  the  lecture 
subsequently  as  may  seem  best." 


IV  PREFACE 

The  administration  of  this  Fund  has  been  in  the  hands 
of  a  committee  made  up  of  one  member  of  the  Faculty 
of  Adelbert  College,  of  the  Medical  School,  and  of  the 
Law  School,  and  the  President  of  the  University  in  an 
advisory  capacity,  and  lectures  upon  a  variety  of  topics 
have  been  given  during  the  past  three  years.  The  lec- 
tures contained  in  this  volume,  delivered  in  February 
of  1917  by  Professor  C.  H.  Grandgent  of  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, are  the  first  to  be  published  by  the  Fund. 


CONTENTS 

I.  VIOLETTA 3 

H.  MATELDA 40 

m.  PIETRA 67 

IV.  BEATRICE 107 

V.    LISETTA  


THE 
LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 


THE 
LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

I.   VIOLETTA 

IT  is  springtime,  perhaps  the  first  of  May.  A  com- 
pany of  young  ladies,  garlanded  with  flowers,  hand  in 
hand  are  dancing  together  in  a  round,  singing  the  while. 
Not  a  fantastic  picture,  this,  but  an  image  of  something 
that  happened  year  by  year  —  one  of  the  pretty  medi- 
eval customs  we  have  lost.  Let  us  hope  it  may  some- 
time be  revived!  The  tune  these  ladies  sang  was  called 
a  "  ballad,"  a  word  which  originally  meant  a  bit  of 
dance  music.  The  piece  consisted  of  a  refrain,  in  which 
all  joined,  and  at  least  one  strophe  sung  by  a  single 
voice.  First  was  the  dancing  chorus,  next  a  pause  for  the 
solo,  then  the  chorus  and  dance  again.  On  this  partic- 
ular occasion  the  ladies  are  performing  a  ballad  by  a 
youth  named  Dante  Alighieri :  that  is  to  say,  he  wrote 
the  text;  whether  or  not  he  composed  the  tune,  we  shall 
probably  never  know.  It  is  likely  enough  that  he  did 
not;  for  poet  and  composer,  in  earlier  days  regularly  one 
and  the  same,  had  begun  to  be  differentiated;  and  we 
have  no  evidence  that  Dante  ever  wrote  music,  although 
he  loved  it.  Here  is  the  song: 


4  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Chorus 

Ah !  Violet,  which  once  didst  meet  mine  eyes, 
Shadowed  by  Love,  appearing  suddenly, 
Pity  the  heart  which  wounded  was  by  thee, 

Which  hopes  in  thee,  and,  yearning  for  thee,  dies. 

Solo 

Thou,  Violet,  in  beauty  past  belief, 
With  fatal  words  didst  kindle  in  my  mind 

A  furious  fire,  the  while 
Thou,  like  a  blazing  spirit  swift  and  kind, 
Didst  fashion  hope,  which  partly  cures  my  grief, 

Whene'er  I  see  thee  smile. 

Ah !  scorn  me  not,  tho'  I  myself  beguile ! 

Think  of  the  longings  which  within  me  burn ! 

For  many  a  bygone  maid,  tho'  slow  to  turn, 
Hath  felt  at  last  the  pain  she  did  despise. 

Chorus 

Ah!  Violet,  which  once  didst  meet  mine  eyes, 
Shadowed  by  Love,  appearing  suddenly, 
Pity  the  heart  which  wounded  was  by  thee, 

Which  hopes  in  thee,  and,  yearning  for  thee,  dies. 

A  scene  faint  as  it  is  fair,  which  fades  as  we  approach 

-  all  the  fairer  for  the  cloud  of  remoteness  that  veils  it, 

and,  if  we  look  too  curiously,  conceals  it  altogether. 

Nameless  are  those  Florentine  ladies  who,  in  the  latter 

years  of  the  thirteenth  century,  danced  together  in  the 


VIOLETTA  5 

new  season,  singing  the  verses  of  their  young  fellow- 
townsman,  who  was  destined  to  be  so  illustrious.  Who 
was  Violet  ?  Was  she  a  damsel  of  flesh  and  blood  ?  Was 
she  the  creature  of  a  spring  poet's  fancy  ?  Was  she  a 
literary  commonplace  ?  Doubtless  our  enjoyment  is 
enhanced  by  ignorance,  for  mystery  is  more  alluring 
than  precise  but  insignificant  fact;  yet  our  indiscretion 
is  forever  itching  to  penetrate  the  mist.  Let  us  yield  to 
it  for  an  hour,  trusting,  at  the  bottom  of  our  hearts,  that 
our  efforts  will  be  vain. 

To  follow  any  trail,  however  vague  and  vanishing, 
through  Dante's  poems  is  a  quest  that  brings  its  own 
reward.  Our  hunting  ground  to-day  shall  be  the  earlier 
chapters  of  the  Vita  Nuova,  and  also  the  unattached 
sonnets  and  ballads  that  have  been  transmitted  to  us  in 
various  lyric  miscellanies.  Since  in  these  collections  the 
attributions  of  authorship  are  often  contradictory  or 
altogether  lacking,  there  is  uncertainty  concerning  many 
poems  to  which  Dante's  name  has  at  one  time  or  another 
been  attached ;  but  with  regard  to  others  there  need  be 
no  doubt,  because  they  are  designated  as  his  by  Dante 
himself  in  one  of  his  surely  authentic  works,  or  men- 
tioned as  his  by  contemporaries  who  were  in  a  position 
to  learn  the  truth,  or  ascribed  to  him  by  a  great  number 
of  good  manuscripts.  Of  internal  evidence  there  is  little, 
save  the  beauty  of  the  verse  and  the  character  of  the 
thought  —  both  untrustworthy  criteria ;  for  other  ex- 
cellent poets  of  his  day  shared  his  ideas.  As  to  the  time 


6  THE  LADIES  OP  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

and  circumstances  of  composition,  next  to  nothing  is 
known. 

For  the  Vita  Nuova,  or  New  Life,  the  case  is  quite 
different.  No  one  questions  its  authorship,  and  its  date 
is  fixed  with  tolerable  precision.  The  little  book  — 
spiritual  autobiography  or  autobiographical  romance, 
however  one  choose  to  call  it  —  was  put  together  when 
the  poet  was  about  twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine  years 
old,  some  three  or  four  years  after  the  death  of  his 
Beatrice.  It  consists  of  a  series  of  poems,  selected  from 
those  written  and  published  by  the  author  during  the 
past  ten  years,  and  embedded  in  a  prose  commentary 
which  forms  a  more  or  less  connected  narrative.  Inti- 
mate as  it  is  in  its  confession  of  sentiment,  it  is  equally 
discreet,  and  reveals  surprisingly  little  in  the  way  of 
tangible  fact.  Our  other  sources  of  information,  too, 
are  almost  barren  for  the  first  stages  of  Dante's  life. 
This  much  we  can  tell,  that,  born  in  the  busy,  gossipy 
little  city  of  Florence,  and  left  an  orphan  while  still  a 
boy,  with  a  brother  and  a  couple  of  sisters,  all  younger 
than  himself,  he  was  well  bred,  and  won  early  distinc- 
tion as  a  poet;  belonging  to  a  genteel  but  not  wealthy 
stock,  he  associated  with  the  best  families  of  the  town, 
and  was  in  childhood  affianced  to  a  daughter  of  the 
aristocratic  Donati  clan,  whom  he  married  when  he 
was  not  far  from  thirty.  That  is  virtually  all.  Some  of 
his  friends,  to  be  sure,  we  can  name:  first  of  all,  the 
distinguished  and  well-to-do  Guido  Cavalcanti,  a  poet, 


VIOLETTA  7 

scholar,  and  man  of  public  affairs,  older  than  Dante; 
next,  a  brother  of  Beatrice,  otherwise  unknown;  then 
Dante's  contemporary,  Lapo  Gianni,  and  his  junior,  Cino 
da  Pistoia,  both  poets,  the  latter  also  an  eminent  jurist; 
finally  the  artist,  Giotto,  and  the  musician,  Casella.  To 
these  may  be  added  the  elderly  statesman  and  author, 
Brunetto  Latini,  sage  counselor  of  Dante's  boyhood. 

But  what  is  to  be  said  of  his  female  friends,  the  object 
of  our  search  ?  Aside  from  his  wife,  Gemma,  whom  he 
never  mentions,  four  ladies,  even  to  us  not  entirely 
devoid  of  individuality,  seem  to  have  influenced  his  life 
-  the  four  whom  we  call,  after  him,  Beatrice,  Matelda, 
Lisetta,  Pietra:  to  these  my  remaining  lectures  shall 
be  devoted.  To-day  we  are  ostensibly  on  the  hunt  for 
sundry  dim,  elusive  figures,  probably  but  not  certainly 
different  from  the  more  distinct  four.  We  shall  not 
catch  them;  but,  like  many  an  unsuccessful  huntsman, 
we  may  enjoy  the  sport.  They  are  the  ghosts  of 
damsels  admired  and  sung  by  Dante  in  his  early 
youth.  He  surely  knew  many  ladies  by  name.  There 
are  the  bands  that  danced  to  his  ballads,  the  "  passing 
troop  of  ladies  gentle-bred  "  whom  he  encountered  on 
All  Saints'  Day  and  immortalized  in  a  sonnet,  the  fem- 
inine circle  that  criticized  his  amatory  style,  the  com- 
panions of  Beatrice  who  made  sport  of  him  at  a  wedding 
banquet;  above  all,  the  "  sixty  most  beautiful  ladies  " 
of  Florence,  whom  he  enumerated  in  a  long  poem, 
unfortunately  lost,  but  described  in  the  New  Life. 


8  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

A  sonnet  written  by  Dante  in  answer  to  a  query, 
also  in  sonnet  form,  from  his  friend  and  fellow-poet, 
Cino  da  Pistoia,  seems  to  reveal  a  degree  of  inconstancy 
which  the  author,  in  other  moments,  would  have  dis- 
avowed. Here  is  the  curious  little  poem: 

Not  since  my  solar  years  have  numbered  nine 

Love's  company  have  I  a  single  moment  quit; 

His  busy  spur  I  know,  I  know  his  bit, 
And  how  he  makes  us  laugh  and  then  repine. 
Against  him,  reason  human  or  divine 

Is  weak  as  music  when  the  thunders  split: 

Think  you  with  lute,  when  skies  are  lightning-lit, 
To  make  the  strife  of  elements  decline  ? 
Within  the  reach  of  his  relentless  dart 

Free  will  is  never  truly  free  nor  bold, 
And  vain  is  all  defence  of  wit  and  art. 

New  spurs,  indeed,  may  take  the  place  of  old; 
And  whatsoever  fresh  delight  they  start, 

We  must  pursue  it,  if  the  other's  cold. 

For  this  sentiment  the  author  was  rebuked  by  another 
poet,  Cecco  d'Ascoli.  It  was  probably  some  other  kind 
of  shortcoming  that  elicited  the  stern  criticism  of 
Dante's  closest  friend,  Guido  Cavalcanti,  one  of  whose 
sonnets  begins: 

I  come  to  see  thee  countless  times  a  day 
And  find  thee  all  too  vulgarly  inclined. 

Oddly  enough,  doubtless  at  a  different  period  of  his 
life  (if  we  only  knew  when!),  Dante  reproached  Cino 
for  the  same  kind  of  fickleness  condoned  above : 


VIOLETTA  9 

O  Master  Cino,  these  your  trivial  rimes 
I  thought  that  I  had  once  for  all  forsook, 
Since  quite  another  course  my  Argo  took  — 

My  ship  that  steers  away  to  distant  climes. 

But,  having  heard  it  said  full  many  times 
That  you  are  quickly  caught  by  every  hook, 
Once  more  a  little  while  I  backward  look, 

Once  mere  this  pen  my  weary  hand  begrimes. 

Whoso,  like  you,  forever  fresh  in  love, 

By  every  charm  is  bound,  then  breaks  away, 
From  Cupid's  wound  can  scarcely  suffer  long. 

Now  if  your  heart  is  always  prone  to  stray, 

Correct  it,  I  beseech  by  God  above, 

Until  your  actions  match  your  gentle  song. 

How  are  we  to  interpret  such  utterances  as  these  ? 
How  much  of  the  authors'  actual  lives  do  they  con- 
tain ?  Do  they  refer  to  shifting  but  real  affections, 
natural  enough  in  young  men;  or  to  social  attentions 
politely  tinged  with  tenderness;  or  to  purely  literary 
attachments  ?  Every  one  of  these  hypotheses  is  so 
plausible  that  —  lacking,  as  we  do,  convincing  evidence 
of  any  kind  —  we  hardly  feel  justified  in  rejecting  it  in 
favor  of  either  of  the  others. 

It  stands  to  reason  that  medieval  youths,  even  as 
those  of  our  own  day,  were  inclined  to  fall  into  an  am- 
orous state,  and  sometimes,  no  doubt,  in  love  with  love, 
they  remained  faithful  to  it,  while  changing  its  bodily 
symbol.  An  immortal  example  is  Romeo.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  the  recently  developed  society  of  the  late 


10  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

middle  ages,  gallantry  of  gentleman  to  lady,  even  serv- 
ice of  vassal  to  mistress,  readily  took  on  the  forms  of 
passionate  devotion;  and  courteous  conversation  was 
largely  based  on  the  assumption  of  irresistible  beauty 
on  the  feminine  side  and  a  responsive  heart  on  the  mas- 
culine. Such  a  convention  is  likely  to  guide  converse 
in  a  community  whose  good  breeding  is  considerably 
in  excess  of  its  fund  of  topics  adapted  to  cultivated 
discourse.  Some  specimens  of  such  polished  dialogue 
are  extant  in  the  old  romances,  and  a  few  in  the  manu- 
als of  conduct  composed  for  young  ladies.  Occasionally, 
of  course,  the  man  and  woman  really  were  in  love,  and 
then  we  may  have,  as  at  the  end  of  the  Provengal  ro- 
mance of  Jaufre,  a  scene  not  unlike  the  closing  chapter 
of  a  Victorian  novel. 

In  most  amatory  conversations,  however,  we  may  be 
fairly  sure  that  the  inflamed  heart  was  a  genteel  fiction, 
and  was  so  understood  by  both  parties.  At  any  rate, 
this  must  have  been  usually  the  case  in  medieval  ama- 
tory poetry,  which,  for  the  most  part,  seems  to  have 
been  addressed  by  a  household  dependent  or  a  paid 
entertainer  to  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  whom  the 
author  complimented  by  feigning  a  melancholy  passion 
for  her.  Hence  it  came  about  that  the  main  business  of 
a  troubadour  was  to  advertise,  under  the  thin  veil  of  a 
pretended  name,  the  superhuman  charms  of  a  selected 
lady  and  his  own  suffering  and  fidelity.  This  style  was 
adopted  even  by  the  exceptional  poets  who  were  of 


VIOLETTA  11 

high  rank;  and  when  one  of  these  actually  did  love  his 
lady,  he  could  scarcely  find  a  mode  of  expression  dif- 
ferent from  that  established  by  the  professional  song- 
sters. We  are  therefore  continually  balked  when,  lured 
by  a  note  of  apparently  vibrant  emotion,  we  try  to 
guess  whether  behind  the  impassioned  verse  there  lurks 
a  genuine  affection. 

With  the  spread  of  French  literary  culture  to  neigh- 
boring and  even  to  distant  lands,  the  fashion  of  con- 
ventional love-poems  was  carried  from  southern  France 
to  Italy,  where,  in  the  early  thirteenth  century,  it  came 
to  be  followed  by  Italian  writers  in  an  Italian  vernacu- 
lar. A  considerable  amount  of  this  verse  has  come  down 
to  us  in  old  songbooks.  Here  is  the  close,  or  envoy,  of 
an  ode  by  Pier  della  Vigna,  chancellor  of  the  great 
emperor,  Frederick  II: 

My  little  song,  go,  carry  this  lament 

To  her  who  safely  holds  my  heart  in  keep, 
And  tell  her  all  my  ills,  if  she  consent, 

And  tell  her  how  she  maketh  me  to  weep. 
And  let  her  send  reply  to  him  who  loves, 

How  love  shall  well  rewarded  be  ere  long; 

And  if  he  ever  did  her  any  wrong, 
He  will  accept  what  penance  she  approves. 

It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the  imperial  chancellor  is 
here  doing  more  than  try  his  hand  at  an  intellectual 
pastime  recently  come  into  vogue.  We  receive  a  similar 


12  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

impression  from  the  following  poetic  effort  of  Percivalle 
Doria,  member  of  a  princely  house  of  Genoa: 

Cupid  hath  captured  me 
And  put  me  in  the  keeping 

Of  this  insensate  love, 
Which  holds  me  wrongfully 
And  turns  my  joy  to  weeping. 

I  curse  the  power  above 
That  maketh  me  revere 
Some  one  who  will  not  hear 
Nor  look  upon  her  slave, 
Whom  she  alone  can  save. 
I  suffer  so  that,  if  I  longer  stay, 
In  fruitless  yearning  I  shall  pine  away. 

In  the  desert  of  our  ignorance  there  is  one  oasis  of 
knowledge,  or  at  least  of  probability.  Whoever  this 
"  some  one  "  may  have  been,  we  may  safely  conjecture 
that  she  was  wedded.  For  according  to  the  rules  of 
courtly  verse  the  object  of  adoration  must  be  a  married 
woman;  and  there  should  properly  be  a  romantic  ele- 
ment of  danger  from  the  fury  of  a  jealous  husband, 
whose  suspicions  may  be  aroused  by  spiteful  tale- 
bearers. That  is  the  situation  in  these  lines  by  Com- 
pagnetto  da  Prato,  in  which  the  woman  speaks : 

Pray  succor  me,  my  lover  true! 
A  hag,  my  neighbor,  spoils  my  peace; 
She  has  divined  my  love  for  you, 
And  now  her  slanders  never  cease. 


VIOLETTA  13 

Again,  the  same  author  puts  the  following  lines  into  the 
mouth  of  a  woman: 

My  husband's  cruelty 

Let  love  into  my  breast, 

And  now  my  heart's  at  rest. 
When  he  tormented  me, 

Love  came,  my  pain  to  cure 
(I  'd  no  such  thought  before) . 

A  lover,  good  and  sure, 
Consoles  me  ever  more 

For  all  that  I  endure. 

0  foolish,  jealous  man, 

I  care  not  how  you  strike: 

Belabor  as  you  like, 
Destroy  love  if  you  can ! 

I  knew  not  what  it  meant 
Till  you  did  first  accuse; 

The  love  you  did  invent 

1  could  not  well  refuse. 

Yours  be  the  punishment! 

One  of  the  best  among  the  early  Italian  poets,  Giaco- 
mino  Pugliese,  makes  a  woman  excuse  herself  thus,  to 
her  impatient  lover,  for  not  allowing  him  to  see  her, 
ascribing  her  retirement  to  the  watchfulness  of  her 
cruel  husband: 

My  lord,  I  am  compelled 

To  crouch  and  hide  my  head, 
So  closely  am  I  held 

Bv  one  whom  God  strike  dead ! 


14  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

And  I  must  shun  the  door, 
As,  to  my  shame,  you  know. 

I  grieve  forever  more, 
And  you  no  mercy  show. 

Now,  the  fashion  of  lyric  verse  originally  grew  up  in 
France,  a  feudal  land,  where  the  first  development  of 
cultivated  society  took  place,  not  in  cities,  but  in  the 
isolated  castles  of  the  aristocracy;  that  is,  in  little, 
select  communities,  hierarchically  stratified,  and  ruled 
by  the  lord  and  lady  of  the  manor.  It  was  a  society 
bent  on  enjoying  its  newly  acquired  and  always  pre- 
carious wealth  and  ease,  conscious  of  its  growing  dis- 
tinction, and  prone  to  cherish  conventions  that  should 
widen  the  gulf  between  its  own  elegance  and  the  gross- 
ness  of  the  inhabitants  of  fields  and  towns.  Peasants 
were  the  butt  of  its  ridicule,  burghers  became  the  object 
of  its  destestation  and  ultimately  the  cause  of  its  down- 
fall. The  influence  of  this  uncompromisingly  aristo- 
cratic spirit,  and  of  the  social  customs  that  went  with 
it,  extended  far  beyond  the  region  of  its  birth. 

In  so  far  as  the  ideals  of  this  society  were  embodied 
in  verse,  they  were  generally  copied  by  the  earliest 
school  of  Italian  poets,  a  group  of  eminent  men  of  law 
and  men  of  arms,  collected  at  the  magnificent  court  of 
the  emperor.  Some  of  the  Provencal  themes,  to  be  sure, 
they  neglected,  while  others  were  carried  by  them  fur- 
ther than  they  had  evolved  in  southern  France.  After 
this  first  band  of  singers,  whose  music  ceased  with  the 


VIOLETTA  15 

death  of  Frederick  in  1250,  appeared  for  a  little  while 
a  school  of  miscellaneous  Tuscan  and  Bolognese  versi- 
fiers, who  followed,  in  the  main,  the  same  conventions, 
and  blindly  imitated  the  Provencal  troubadours  of  the 
period  of  decline.  To  call  them  blind  is  not  unjust,  for 
the  conditions  in  which  they  lived  were  remote  from 
those  under  which  their  adopted  system  had  come  into 
being.  In  Italy,  especially  in  the  north  and  the  centre, 
civilization  was  essentially  urban:  it  was  the  towns- 
people, the  clerks,  the  guilds,  the  manufacturers  and 
tradesmen,  rather  than  a  rustic  nobility,  that  culti- 
vated the  arts.  They  were  a  sober,  thrifty,  earnest, " 

T~ 
God-fearing  set  of  men,  to  whom  the  esoteric  elegance 

-  and  immorality  of  Provence  were  foreign. 

It  is,  therefore,  not  surprising  that  Italian  poetry, 
first  in  Bologna,  then  in  Florence,  should  have  refash- 
ioned itself  into  better  accord  with  its  environment, 
becoming  simpler,  clearer,  prettier,  fresher  in  form  and 
at  the  same  time  deeper  in  thought.  To  the  subjection 
of  the  lover  and  the  feudal  superiority  oFTiTs  beloved 
was  given,  under  the  influence  of  Christian  philosophy, 
a.  new  significance,  more  in  keeping  with  Italian  practi- 
cal and  religious  habits. 

That  new  meaning  seems  very  strange  to  us,  an  out- 
growth of  a  time  far  removed.  It  was  the  age  of  sym- 
bolism, of  allegory,  which  pervaded  not  only  Biblical 
interpretation  and  church  offices  and  architecture,  but 
also  the  whole  conception  of  literature  and  science. 


16  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Just  as,  in  scholastic  exegesis,  every  important  incident 
in  the  Old  Testament,  though  literally  true,  fore- 
shadows some  event  in  the  New,  so  almost  anything 
in  the  world  of  fact  or  the  world  of  fiction  might  be 
understood  as  a  mystic  figure  of  something  else.  The 
worshipped  lady,  then,  —  who  was  no  longer  of  neces- 
sity a  married  woman  and  a  social  superior,  —  became, 
without  abdicating  her  reality,  a  symbol  of  something 
unquestionably  venerable:  to  wit,  the  heavenly  intelli- 
gence, which  is  another  name  for  the  angels,  readers  of 
God's  mind  and  executors  of  his  design.  Both  woman 
and  angel  she  now  was,  an  object  of  love  and  of  rev- 
erence. The  love  was  a  respectful  one,  and  might  be 
innocent  even  in  thought;  the  reverence  was  paid  to 
something  higher  than  earthly  rank.  With  this  novel 
conception  of  the  lady  came  an  ethical  definition  of 
nobility,  which  was  described  as  the  result,  not  of  an 
accident  of  birth,  but  of  a  special  grace  of  God,  mani- 
festing itself  in  lofty  moral  character.  Furthermore, 
love,  according  to  the  new  doctrine,  is  an  attribute  of 
the  noble  heart  alone:  no  vulgar  nature  can  feel  or 
understand  it.  In  the  gentle  heart,  however,  love  exists 
potentially  from  birth,  lying  dormant  until  stirred  to 
activity  by  the  sight  of  a  worthy  object;  and,  after 
its  awakening,  it  becomes  the  absolute  but  beneficent 
tyrant  of  life.  Thus  the  lover,  while  still,  like  his  Gallic 
prototype,  a  subject,  is  henceforth  subject  only  to  a 
divine  power. 


VIOLETTA  17 

These  ideas  were  put  forth  by  a  learned  and  artistic 
poet  of  Bologna,  Guido  Guinizelli,  whom  Dante  called 
"  my  master,  and  master  of  all  those,  my  betters,  who 
ever  wrote  sweet  rimes  of  love."  We  find  them  for  the 
first  time  explicitly  phrased  in  Guide's  famous  poem, 
Al  cor  gentil  ripara  sempre  Amore,  "Love  repairs  always 
to  the  noble  heart,"  a  work  to  which  Dante  more  than 
once  refers.  Here  it  is,  as  translated  by  Dante  Gabriel 
Rossetti,  in  his  volume  entitled  Dante  and  his  Circle: 

Within  the  gentle  heart  Love  shelters  him, 

As  birds  within  the  green  shade  of  the  grove. 
Before  the  gentle  heart,  in  Nature's  scheme, 
Love  was  not,  nor  the  gentle  heart  ere  Love. 

For  with  the  sun,  at  once, 
So  sprang  the  light  immediately;  nor  was 

Its  birth  before  the  sun's. 
And  Love  hath  his  effect  in  gentleness 

Of  very  self;  even  as 
Within  the  middle  fire  the  heat's  excess. 

The  fire  of  Love  comes  to  the  gentle  heart 

Like  as  its  virtue  to  a  precious  stone; 

To  which  no  star  its  influence  can  impart 

Till  it  is  made  a  pure  thing  by  the  sun: 

For  when  the  sun  hath  smit 
From  out  its  essence  that  which  there  was  vile, 

The  star  endoweth  it. 
And  so  the  heart  created  by  God's  breath 

Pure,  true,  and  free  from  guile, 
A  woman,  like  a  star,  enamoureth. 


18  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

In  gentle  heart  Love  for  like  reason  is 

For  which  the  lamp's  high  flame  is  fanned  and  bowed : 
Clear,  piercing  bright,  it  shines  for  its  own  bliss; 
Nor  would  not  burn  there  else,  it  is  so  proud. 

For  evil  natures  meet 
With  Love  as  it  were  water  met  with  fire, 

As  cold  abhorring  heat. 
Through  gentle  heart  Love  doth  a  track  divine,  — 

Like  knowing  like;  the  same 
As  diamond  runs  through  iron  in  a  mine. 

The  sun  strikes  full  upon  the  mud  all  day: 

It  remains  vile,  nor  is  the  sun's  worth  less. 
"  By  race  I  am  gentle,"  the  proud  man  doth  say: 
He  is  the  mud,  the  sun  is  gentleness. 

Let  no  man  predicate 
That  aught  the  name  of  gentleness  should  have, 

Even  in  a  king's  estate, 
Except  the  heart  there  be  a  gentle  man's. 

The  star-beam  lights  the  wave,  — 
Heaven  holds  the  star  and  the  star's  radiance. 

God,  in  the  understanding  of  high  Heaven, 

Burns  more  than  in  our  sight  the  living  sun : 
There  to  behold  His  Face  unveiled  is  given; 

And  Heaven,  whose  will  is  homage  paid  to  One, 

Fulfils  the  things  which  live 
In  God,  from  the  beginning  excellent. 

So  should  my  lady  give 
That  truth  which  in  her  eyes  is  glorified, 

On  which  her  heart  is  bent, 
To  me  whose  service  waiteth  at  her  side. 


VIOLETTA  19 

My  lady,  God  shall  ask,  "  What  darest  thou  ?  " 

(When  my  soul  stands  with  all  her  acts  review'd) 
"  Thou  passedst  Heaven,  into  My  sight,  as  now, 
To  make  Me  of  vain  love  similitude. 

To  Me  doth  praise  belong, 
And  to  the  Queen  of  all  the  realm  of  grace 

Who  slayeth  fraud  and  wrong." 
Then  may  I  plead :  "  As  though  from  Thee  he  came, 

Love  wore  an  angel's  face : 
Lord,  if  I  loved  her,  count  it  not  my  shame." 

Guinizelli's  view  of  nobility  was  developed  by  Dante 
in  scholastic  style  in  the  third  ode  of  his  Banquet.  His 
idea  of  love  we  find,  rephrased  and  slightly  altered,  in 
a  sonnet  of  Dante's  New  Life: 

The  gentle  heart  and  love  are  all  the  same, 

As  in  his  verse  the  knowing  Bard  hath  writ; 
And  neither  one  can  independence  claim, 

E'en  as  the  witting  soul  depends  on  wit. 
Nature  creates,  when  lovingly  aflame, 

Love,  to  command,  the  heart,  to  harbor  it; 
Wherein  it  slumbering  rests,  alive  but  tame, 

While  passing  seasons,  few  or  many,  flit. 
Now  comes  a  lady  beauteous  and  pure, 

Who  so  delights  the  eyes  that  in  the  heart 

Desire  arises  for  her  beauty  then, 
And  oft  within  the  breast  doth  so  endure 

That  love  at  last  awakens  with  a  start.  — 
No  less  are  ladies  won  by  worthy  men. 


20  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

The  love  theories  of  Guinizelli  were  put  into  literary 
practice,  in  the  next  generation,  by  a  small  group  of 
poets,  —  Guido  Cavalcanti,  Dante  Alighieri,  Gianni 
Alfani,  Dino  Frescobaldi,  Lapo  Gianni,  Cino  da  Pistoia, 
-  who  shaped  the  novel  manner  known  as  the  dolce 
stil  nuovo,  or  "  sweet  new  style,"  a  name  bestowed  upon 
it  by  Dante  himself,  in  a  passage  of  his  Purgatory. 
However,  by  no  means  all  the  verse  even  of  these  few 
poets  follows  the  new  pattern,  and  after  their  death 
the  style  soon  went  out  of  vogue;  but  while  it  lasted, 
it  gave  rise  to  some  of  the  finest  love  poetry  ever  com- 
posed —  poetry  which  attracts  us  still,  by  its  soft 
beauty,  by  its  spiritual  tone,  and  by  the  air  of  mystery 
that  pervades  it.  Here  is  a  sonnet,  probably  by  Dante, 
which  illustrates  its  lighter,  daintier  vein: 

This  last  All  Saints'  I  saw  a  pretty  sight, 

A  passing  troop  of  ladies  gentle-bred; 
And,  leading  Love  beside  her  on  the  right, 

One  special  lady  seemed  to  walk  ahead. 
Aglow,  as  't  were  a  fire-envelopt  sprite, 

A  radiance  from  beneath  her  eyelids  sped. 
Seeking  her  face,  as  boldly  as  I  might, 

I  saw  therein  an  angel  pictured. 
A  greeting  she  to  all  the  worthy  gave,  — 

The  kind  and  modest  lady,  —  with  her  eyes, 
And  made  the  hearts  of  all  she  greeted,  brave. 

This  queen  was  surely  born  beyond  the  skies, 
And  came  to  earth  our  sinful  souls  to  save. 

Then  blest  the  maid  to  follow  her  who  tries! 


VIOLETTA  21 

The  following  sonnet  from  the  New  Life,  though  very 
similar,  is  in  a  somewhat  more  solemn  mood: 

My  Lady  carries  Love  within  her  eyes, 

And  thus  ennobles  all  she  looks  upon. 

All  turn  to  watch  her,  while  she  passes  on; 
The  one  she  greets,  with  heart  a-quiver,  sighs 
And,  bending  down  his  visage,  nearly  dies, 

So  full  of  shame  for  all  the  wrong  he  's  done. 

As  she  advances,  pride  and  wrath  are  gone. 
(How,  ladies,  can  I  honor  her  ?  Advise !) 
All  sweetness,  every  lowly  thought  and  true 

Invade  the  heart  of  him  who  hears  her  speak, 
And  he  who  once  beholds  her,  fareth  well. 
Her  beauty,  when  she  faintly  smiles,  to  tell, 

Both  speech  and  memory  are  far  too  weak, 
'Tis  such  a  noble  miracle,  and  new. 

In  the  third  strophe  of  the  ode  Donne  ch'avete  intelletto 
d'amore,  "  Ladies  who  have  understanding  of  love,"  we 
find  the  same  spirit  and  the  same  ideas: 

My  lady 's  longed  for  in  the  heavens  above. 
Now  let  me  tell  you  of  her  wondrous  might. 
Whatever  lady  would  be  "  gentle  "  hight 

Should  walk  with  her;  for  when  she  goes  her  way, 
A  chill  is  cast  on  vulgar  hearts  by  Love, 

And  all  their  thoughts  are  cold  and  dead  with  fright. 
Whoe'er  should  stand  his  ground  to  see  the  sight 
Would  be  ennobled  or  would  turn  to  clay. 
When  she  discerns  a  worthy  man  who  may 


22  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Rightly  behold  her,  he  must  own  her  power; 

For  blessedness  she  gives,  a  mystic  dower, 

So  humbling  him,  no  spite  can  with  him  stay. 
God  granteth  her  a  grace  that's  greater  still : 
Who  speaks  to  her,  escapes  eternal  ill. 

In  like  style  Cavalcanti  sang  in  Gli  occhi  di  quella: 

She  shows  herself 

So  gentle,  I  the  thought  can  never  brook 
That  any  mortal  man  should  dare  to  look 

And  not  be  set  a-quiver,  should  he  try. 

If  I  should  gaze  upon  her,  I  should  die. 

Before  him,  Guinizelli,  father  of  the  sweet  new  style, 
composed  his  Voglio  del  ver  la  mia  donna  laudare: 

She  walks  her  way  so  gentle  and  so  sweet, 
She  levels  pride  in  him  she  doth  address, 

And  makes  him  Christian,  were  he  not  before. 
No  vulgar  man  may  venture  her  to  greet. 
She  hath,  I  swear,  a  greater  blessedness: 
Who  looks  at  her,  can  think  no  evil  more. 

We  have  strayed  a  long  way  from  Violet  and  her 
pretty  ballad.  In  that,  we  saw  no  trace  of  superwoman 
nor  of  mysticism,  and  the  same  thing  is  true  of  much 
of  Dante's  verse;  but  it  is  not  always  easy  to  tell  where 
allegory  begins.  Between  the  extremes  of  manifest  sim- 
plicity and  manifest  symbolism  there  lies  a  considerable 
region  of  more  or  less  uncertain  character.  Luckily  we 
have  one  clue.  The  New  Life  contains  a  curious  passage 


VIOLETTA  23 

which  plainly  indicates  a  conscious  change  of  style,  a 
conversion  to  the  mode  of  Guinizelli  —  at  least,  in  all 
poetry  that  shall  be  concerned  with  Beatrice.  "  After  I 
had  written  these  three  sonnets  addressed  to  this  lady, 
resolving  (inasmuch  as  they  had  narrated  nearly  all  my 
condition)  to  hold  my  peace,  since  it  seemed  to  me  I  had 
disclosed  enough  of  myself,  I  was  constrained,  while  re- 
fraining henceforth  from  directing  my  speech  to  her,  to 
find  a  new  theme  more  worthy  than  my  former  one.  And 
inasmuch  as  the  occasion  of  my  new  theme  is  pleasant 
to  hear,  I  shall  tell  it  as  briefly  as  I  can.  Forasmuch  as 
many  people  had  from  my  looks  guessed  my  heart's 
secret,  certain  ladies,  who  had  gathered  together  for  the 
pleasure  of  one  another's  company,  were  well  acquainted 
with  my  heart,  every  one  of  them  having  been  present 
at  many  of  my  discomfitures.  And  as  I  passed  near 
them,  guided,  as  it  were,  by  fortune,  I  was  called  by 
one  of  these  gentle  ladies;  and  she  who  had  called  me 
was  possessed  of  very  charming  speech.  Therefore, 
when  I  had  come  before  them,  and  had  plainly  seen 
that  my  most  gentle  lady  was  not  among  them,  taking 
heart,  I  greeted  them  and  asked  what  was  their  pleasure. 
The  ladies  were  many,  and  among  them  were  some  who 
were  laughing  together.  Others  there  were  who  were 
watching  for  me  to  speak.  Others  there  were  conversing 
together,  one  of  whom,  turning  her  eyes  toward  me  and 
calling  me  by  name,  spake  these  words :  '  To  what  pur- 
pose lovest  thou  this  lady  of  thine,  since  thou  canst  not 


24  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

endure  her  presence  ?  Tell  us,  for  the  purpose  of  such 
a  love  must  needs  be  strange  indeed.'  And  when  she 
had  spoken  these  words  to  me,  not  only  she  but  all  the 
others  began  visibly  to  await  my  reply.  Then  I  spake 
to  them  these  words:  '  My  ladies,  the  purpose  of  my 
love  was  once  the  greeting  of  this  lady  —  perhaps  the 
person  whom  you  mean;  and  in  that  dwelt  the  happi- 
ness which  was  the  goal  of  all  my  desires.  But  since  it 
hath  been  her  pleasure  to  deny  it  to  me,  my  lord  Love, 
in  his  mercy,  hath  placed  all  my  happiness  in  something 
that  cannot  fail  me.'  Thereupon  these  ladies  began  to 
converse  together;  and,  as  sometimes  we  see  water 
falling  mixed  with  pretty  snow,  so  it  seemed  to  me  I 
heard  their  words  issue  forth  mixed  with  sighs.  And 
when  they  had  conversed  a  little  together,  that  same 
lady  who  had  first  spoken  to  me  said  these  words :  *  We 
beg  thee  to  tell  us  in  what  this  happiness  of  thine  con- 
sists.' And  I,  replying,  spake  thus:  '  In  those  words 
which  praise  my  lady.'  And  she  answered:  'If  thy 
speech  were  true,  thou  wouldst  have  wrought  with  a 
different  design  those  words  which  thou  hast  written, 
proclaiming  thy  condition.'  Whereat  I,  considering 
these  words,  departed  from  the  ladies  as  one  ashamed; 
and  I  kept  saying  to  myself:  '  Since  there  is  so  much 
happiness  in  those  words  which  praise  my  lady,  why 
have  I  spoken  aught  else  ?  '  And  therefore  I  determined 
always  to  take  as  subject  of  my  speech  henceforth  that 
which  should  be  in  praise  of  that  most  gentle  lady.  And, 


VIOLETTA  25 

as  I  reflected  much  upon  it,  I  seemed  to  have  undertaken 
a  theme  too  exalted  for  me,  so  that  I  dared  not  begin; 
and  thus  I  remained  some  days,  eager  to  write  and  afraid 
to  begin." 

When,  after  arduous  meditation,  he  did  begin,  he 
composed  his  first  ode  in  the  new  style,  Donne  ch'avete 
intelletto  d'amore,  which  he  appears  ever  afterward  to 
have  regarded  as  a  landmark  in  his  literary  career.  It 
evidently  testifies  to  the  transition  from  his  first  to  his 
second  manner.  One  of  its  stanzas  we  have  just  seen. 
With  Dante's  subsequent  work  we  need  not  further 
occupy  ourselves  as  yet,  our  present  concern  being  his 
poetic  and  amorous  fancy  before  this  change. 

In  the  earlier  period,  his  poems,  even  those  addressed 
to  Beatrice,  generally  give,  by  comparison,  the  impres- 
sion of  old-fashioned  love-songs,  in  kind  not  unlike 
those  made  for  other  ladies  by  other  poets.  When  we 
look  at  the  lyrics  outside  the  New  Life,  —  that  is,  those 
poems  whose  subject  and  address  are  not  specified  by 
the  author,  —  we  are  often  unable  to  say  whether  they 
are  meant  for  Beatrice  or  for  some  lady  unknown  to  us; 
indeed,  the  attribution  of  authorship  in  the  manuscripts 
is  frequently  our  only  indication  that  Dante  wrote 
them  at  all.  We  have  no  means  of  identifying  the  fair 
invalid  who  figures  in  the  ode  Morte,  poich'io  non  truovo 
a  cui  mi  doglia,  "  O  Death,  since  I  find  no  one  to  listen 
to  my  plaint;  "  nor  the  distant  love  in  La  dispietata 
mente,  che  pur  mira: 


26  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

The  memory,  —  which  constantly  doth  look, 
All  pitiless,  at  seasons  past  away,  — 

Attacketh  here  my  desolated  heart; 
And  tender  longing  for  the  land  forsook, 

Which  draws  me  sweetly  whence  I  had  to  stray, 
Attacks  it  there,  and  Love  is  taking  part. 

The  very  Violet  for  whose  sake  we  began  our  fruitless 
quest,  may,  for  aught  we  positively  know,  have  been 
Beatrice  herself. 

On  the  other  hand,  critics  have  not  failed  to  suggest 
that  some  of  the  lyrics  devoted  in  the  New  Life  to 
Beatrice  were  perhaps  originally  intended  for  somebody 
else.  Such  a  poem  as  the  following,  indeed,  might  have 
been  written  under  the  inspiration  of  almost  any  one 
who  could  suggest  so  much  as  a  thought  of  love: 

Of  Love  within  me  speaketh  every  thought; 

And  yet  they  show  so  much  variety 
»  That  one  doth  make  me  crave  his  tyranny, 

Another  reckons  all  his  power  as  naught, 
Another,  hopeful,  sweetness  may  have  brought, 
Another  makes  me  weep  full  frequently. 
Only  agreed  in  asking  sympathy, 
They  quake  with  fear,  by  which  the  heart  is  caught. 
And  therefore,  doubting  which  my  theme  shall  be, 
I  fain  would  write,  but  know  not  what  to  say, 
And  thus  in  Love's  bewildering  maze  am  lost. 
Would  I  agreement  have,  at  any  cost, 
Mine  enemy  I  needs  must  call  and  pray: 
"  My  lady  Pity,  come  and  comfort  me!  " 


VIOLETTA  27 

Another  discussion  of  love,  in  the  same  early  part  of 
the  New  Life,  is  a  bit  less  impersonal  and  far  more 
tragically  conceived: 

Come  flocking  fast  into  my  mind  alway 

The  sadnesses  that  Love  imparts  to  me, 
And  pity  comes  so  sharp,  it  makes  me  say 

And  say  again:  "  Alas!  can  such  things  be!  " 
For  Love  attacks  me  with  so  sudden  fray 

That  nearly  all  my  life  he  makes  to  flee; 
One  single  living  spirit  still  doth  stay, 

And  it  abides  because  it  speaks  of  thee. 
Then  I  arouse  me,  for  I  will  not  die, 

And  pallid,  void  of  vigor,  forth  I  start 

To  look  on  thee,  and  think  to  heal  my  pain. 
But  if  I  lift  mine  eyes,  my  hope  to  spy, 

An  earthquake  rumbles  in  my  frightened  heart, 
And  makes  my  soul  depart  from  every  vein. 

With  these,  perhaps,  belongs  the  sonnet,  not  included 
in  the  New  Life,  entitled  Deh,  ragioniamo  un  poco,  0 
Amore.  Again,  the  first  sonnet  of  the  little  book,  the 
famous  allegorical  dream  of  Love,  contains  nothing  to 
attach  it  to  one  woman  rather  than  another.  With 
regard  to  the  original  purpose  of  such  poems  as  these, 
we  must  take  the  author's  word,  which  we  really  have 
no  sufficient  reason  to  doubt. 

A  few,  however,  of  the  early  poems  to  Beatrice  are 
slightly  more  concrete,  evidently  containing  reference 
to  some  specific  incident,  an  account  of  which  is  in  each 


28  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

case  furnished  by  the  prose  narrative,  and  this  explana- 
tion is  satisfactory  enough,  provided  we  once  admit  the 

/  vaguely  biographical  character  of  the  whole  work.  As 
we  shall  presently  see,  Dante,  by  his  insistent  atten- 
tions to  another  lady,  so  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
Beatrice  that  she  refused  thereafter  to  recognize  him 
when  they  met.  Hence  the  following  ballad,  which 

I  probably  first  reached  the  ears  of  the  offended  one  at 
a  dance,  where  it  was  sung  by  feminine  companions. 
Unlike  our  first  ballad,  which  had  only  one  stanza 
for  a  single  voice,  this  one  has  four  strophes  for  a  solo 
singer.  Here  is  the  chorus,  which  precedes  the  first 
stanza  and  follows  each : 

Ballad,  I  bid  thee  summon  Love  for  me, 
And  then  with  him  before  my  Lady  fare, 
That  Love,  my  Lord,  may  freely  argue  there 

The  very  thing  which  thou  shalt  sing:  my  plea. 

In  each  strophe  the  last  line  rimes  with  the  first  and 
fourth  lines  of  the  chorus.  The  poet  addresses  himself, 
not  to  his  lady,  but  to  his  poem,  which  he  sends  to 
Beatrice  accompanied  by  Love;  and  Love  is  to  defend 
him  with  the  words  of  the  ballad. 

So  courteous,  Ballad,  doth  thy  flight  appear 

That  unaccompanied 

Full  boldly  shouldst  thou  go  on  any  quest; 
But  if  thou  fain  wouldst  be  devoid  of  fear, 

Find  out  where  Love  is  hid, 


VIOLETTA  29 

For  journeying  with  him  perhaps  is  best; 

Since  she  to  whom  thy  song's  addrest, 
If,  as  I  think,  she  holds  me  in  despite 
And  thou  shouldst  not  be  sheltered  by  his  might, 
Right  easily  would  turn  her  back  to  thee. 

Safe  at  the  side  of  Love,  with  music  sweet 

Begin  such  words  as  these 
(But  first  beseech  her  not  to  wish  me  ill) : 
"  My  Lady,  he  who  sends  me,  you  to  greet, 

Entreats  you,  when  you  please, 
If  he  have  any  case,  to  hear  it  still. 
For  here  is  Love,  who  maketh  him  at  will 
Turn  red  and  white  before  your  loveliness. 
Now,  why  Love  bade  him  gaze  on  others,  guess! 
His  heart  was  never  changed  by  Love's  decree." 

"  My  Lady,"  say  to  her,  "  his  faithful  heart 

Hath  been  so  sure  and  stout, 
His  every  thought  doth  service  unto  you. 
Yours  from  the  first,  he  never  wisht  to  part." 

And,  if  she  harbor  doubt, 
Tell  her  to  question  Love  whether  't  is  true. 
And,  having  spoke  this  message,  humbly  sue, 
If  she  should  find  it  irksome  to  forgive, 
That  she  command  me  now  to  cease  to  live: 
A  trusty  slave's  obedience  she  shall  see. 

Before  the  moment  come,  thy  leave  to  take, 

Tell  pity's  gatekeeper, 
Who  knoweth  how  my  righteous  cause  to  speed: 


SO  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

"  I  pray  thee,  for  my  gentle  music's  sake 

Do  thou  stay  here  with  her; 
For  this,  thy  servant,  choose  thy  words  and  plead. 
And  if  to  thine  entreaty  she  give  heed, 
A  kindly  glance  be  signal  of  his  peace." 
Set  forth,  sweet  Ballad,  fix  thine  own  release 
At  such  a  time  that  thou  shalt  honored  be. 

Dante's  bad  reputation  and  the  disfavor  of  Beatrice 
had  a  consequence  even  more  disastrous  than  the  denial 
of  her  salutation.  According  to  the  Florentine  ordi- 
nances, a  common  citizen  invited  to  a  marriage  was 
allowed  to  take  with  him  one  companion.  This  privilege 
was  used,  by  a  well-meaning  friend,  to  introduce  Dante 
at  a  wedding  banquet  where  many  beautiful  ladies  were 
gathered  to  accompany  the  bride.  '  Wherefore  I," 
says  the  poet,  "  thinking  to  do  the  pleasure  of  this 
friend,  resolved  to  stay  and  wait  on  the  ladies  with  him. 
And  when  I  had  come  to  this  decision,  I  seemed  to  feel 
a  wondrous  quiver  begin  in  my  breast,  on  the  left  side, 
and  quickly  spread  through  all  parts  of  my  body.  Then, 
I  declare,  I  leaned  my  person,  dissembling,  against  a 
painting  which  ran  around  this  apartment;  and,  fearing 
that  some  one  had  observed  my  tremor,  I  raised  my 
eyes,  and,  gazing  at  the  ladies,  I  saw  among  them  the 
most  gentle  Beatrice."  After  a  description  of  the  strange 
effects  of  this  sudden  encounter,  he  continues:  "  I  de- 
clare that  many  of  these  ladies,  perceiving  my  trans- 
figuration, began  to  marvel;  and,  chatting,  they  mocked 


VIOLETTA  31 

at  me  with  this  most  gentle  one.  Whereat  my  honestly 
deceived  friend  took  me  by  the  hand,  and,  leading  me 
forth  from  the  sight  of  these  ladies,  asked  me  what  ailed 
me.  Then,  having  composed  myself  a  little  .  .  .  ,  I 
spake  to  this  my  friend  these  words :  '  I  had  set  foot 
on  that  part  of  life  beyond  which  no  one  can  go  with 
expectation  of  return.'  And,  parting  from  him,  I  re- 
turned to  my  chamber  of  tears,  in  which,  weeping  and 
ashamed,  I  said  to  myself:  '  If  this  lady  knew  my  state, 
I  do  not  think  she  would  thus  mock  at  my  person;  rather 
do  I  believe  that  she  would  greatly  pity  it.'  And,  thus 
weeping,  I  resolved  to  write  words  in  which,  addressing 
her,  I  should  make  known  the  cause  of  my  transfigura- 
tion, declaring  that  I  am  quite  sure  it  is  not  known,  and 
that,  were  it  known,  I  believe  it  would  move  people  to 
pity;  and  I  resolved  to  write  them,  hoping  they  might 
by  chance  come  to  her  hearing.  And  then  I  wrote  this 
sonnet."  Note  that  Dante  says  "  come  to  her  hearing." 
The  word  sonnet  primarily  meant  a  "  little  tune;  "  and 
the  poem  bearing  that  name  was  still,  it  would  seem, 
sometimes  sung.  The  sonnet  in  question  begins  thus : 

With  other  ladies  mocking  at  my  face, 

You  care  not,  Lady,  whence  it  comes  that  I 
With  such  a  strange  appearance  come  anigh 

Whene'er  I  gaze  upon  your  lovely  grace. 

Were  these  ladies,  I  wonder,  the  same  as  those  who, 
having  been  present  at  many  of  Dante's  discomfitures, 
subsequently  criticized  his  love-making,  showing  him 


32  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

that  his  theoretical  purpose  was  not  the  purpose  mani- 
fest in  his  poems  ? 

This  mockery,  which  rankled  in  the  poet's  heart, 
forms  the  theme  of  another  poem.  "  After  my  strange 
transfiguration,"  he  says,  "  there  came  to  me  a  potent 
thought,  which  scarcely  left  me,  but  rebuked  me  again 
and  again,  speaking  to  me  as  follows:  '  Inasmuch  as 
thou  dost  cut  such  a  sorry  figure  when  thou  art  near 
this  lady,  why  dost  thou  still  try  to  see  her  ?  Lo, 
shouldst  thou  be  questioned  by  her,  what  wouldst  thou 
have  to  reply,  supposing  all  thy  faculties  were  so  free 
that  thou  couldst  make  answer  to  her  ?  '  And  to  this 
thought  responded  another,  a  meek  one,  saying:  'If 
I  did  not  lose  my  faculties,  and  were  so  free  that  I  could 
make  answer  to  her,  I  should  say  that  no  sooner  do  I 
picture  to  myself  her  marvelous  beauty  than  there 
comes  upon  me  a  desire  to  see  her,  which  is  of  such  power 
that  it  kills  and  destroys  in  my  memory  whatsoever 
might  arise  against  it;  and  therefore  my  past  sufferings 
do  not  prevent  me  from  seeking  to  see  her.'  '  Here  is 
the  sonnet  that  follows : 

All  things  that  memory  cites  to  hinder  me, 
Whene'er  I  seek  you,  beauteous  jewel,  die. 

As  I  approach  you,  Love  is  calling:  "  Flee, 
If  death  be  irksome!  Save  thyself,  O  try!  " 

My  heart  hath  lent  my  face  his  livery  — 

My  swooning  heart,  which  leans  on  aught  that 's  nigh. 

When  they  my  reeling,  drunken  tremor  see, 


VIOLETTA  33 

The  stones  "  O  let  him  perish!  "  seem  to  cry. 
Full  sinful  he  who  sees  me  deathly  ill 

And  gives  no  comfort  to  my  soul  affright, 

With  just  a  show  of  sympathetic  care, 
For  sake  of  pity  —  which  your  mockeries  kill ! 
For  pity  is  engendered  by  the  sight 

Of  ghastly  eyes,  a  death-imploring  pair! 

To  this  same  period  we  may  tentatively  assign  two 
unincluded  sonnets,  lo  son  si  vago  delta  bella  luce  and 
0  dolci  rime  che  parlando  andate,  the  first  a  poem  of 
reproach,  the  second  one  of  self-defence. 

The  disapproval  of  Beatrice  was  due,  in  the  first 
place,  to  Dante's  excessive  attention  to  another  lady. 
In  fact,  we  find,  in  Chapters  V  to  X  of  the  New  Life, 
three  feminine  figures  other  than  "  the  most  gentle 
one."  The  second  of  the  three,  a  friend  of  Beatrice,  is 
mourned  as  dead  by  the  poet,  who  devotes  to  her  two 
pretty  little  elegies  in  sonnet  form;  to  her  we  shall  re- 
turn later,  when  considering  Matilda.  Let  us  see  what 
Dante  has  to  say  of  the  other  two. 

"  One  day  it  came  to  pass  that  this  most  gentle  one 
[Beatrice]  was  sitting  in  a  place  where  were  heard  words 
of  the  Queen  of  glory,  and  I  was  in  a  place  whence  I 
could  see  my  blessedness.  And  midway  between  her 
and  me,  in  a  straight  line,  sat  a  gentle  lady  of  right 
pleasing  appearance,  who  looked  at  me  many  times, 
wondering  at  my  gaze,  which  seemed  to  end  on  her; 
wherefore  many  people  took  notice  of  her  looking.  And 


34  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

so  much  heed  was  given  to  it  that,  as  I  went  away  from 
the  spot,  I  heard  behind  me:  '  See  how  such  and  such 
a  lady  wastes  the  flesh  of  this  man  ?  And,  as  they 
named  her,  I  understood  that  they  were  speaking  of 
her  who  had  been  between  in  the  straight  line  which 
started  from  the  most  gentle  Beatrice  and  ended  in  my 
eyes.  Then  was  I  greatly  heartened,  being  assured 
that  on  that  day  my  secret  had  not  been  betrayed  by 
my  looks.  And  forthwith  I  determined  to  make  of  this 
gentle  lady  a  screen  of  the  truth;  and  of  this  I  gave, 
in  a  little  while,  such  evidence  that  most  people  who 
spake  of  me  thought  they  knew  my  secret.  With  this 
lady  did  I  conceal  myself  some  months  and  years;  and, 
to  make  others  believe,  I  composed  for  her  certain  little 
things  in  rime,  which  it  is  not  my  intention  to  write 
down  here."  In  this  passage  we  find,  explicitly  avowed, 
an  apparent  attachment,  of  more  than  one  year's  dura- 
tion, which  was  probably  more  real  than  Dante  would 
have  us  believe,  and  which  was  the  occasion  of  "  certain 
little  things  in  rime,"  surely  known  to  the  first  readers 
of  the  New  Life.  Possibly  the  ballad  of  Violet  was  one 
of  these;  perhaps  the  sonnet,  Non  mi  poriano  mai  far 
amenda,  or  Nelle  man  vostre,  gentil  donna  mia.  However 
that  may  be,  Dante  proceeds  next  to  tell  us  of  the  lost 
poem  which  names  "  the  sixty  most  beautiful  ladies  of 
the  city."  Among  these  ladies,  he  declares,  Beatrice  is 
ninth;  and  we  may  surmise  that  the  screen  lady  was 
first. 


VIOLETTA  35 

"  The  lady,"  he  continues,  "  with  whom  I  had  so 
long  hidden  my  wish,  was  obliged  to  depart  from  the 
aforesaid  city  and  go  to  a  very  distant  place.  Whereat 
I,  dismayed,  as  it  were,  over  the  fair  protection  that 
had  failed  me,  was  far  more  downcast  than  I  myself 
should  have  believed  beforehand.  And  reflecting  that, 
if  I  did  not  speak  somewhat  sorrowfully  of  her  depar- 
ture, people  would  the  more  quickly  discover  my  con- 
cealment, I  determined  to  make  some  kind  of  lament 
over  it  in  a  sonnet,  which  I  shall  write  down,  inasmuch 
as  my  lady  [Beatrice]  was  the  immediate  cause  of  certain 
words  in  the  sonnet,  as  is  manifest  to  one  who  under- 
stands. Then  I  wrote  this  sonnet."  The  poem  is  of  a 
type,  long  since  gone  out  of  use,  called  sonetto  rinterzato, 
because  it  is  lengthened  by  the  insertion  of  six  short 
lines.  The  middle  part  of  it,  telling  of  his  blissfully 

amorous  state,  was  composed,  he  presently  avers,  "  with 

i 

a  different  meaning  from  that  which  the  two  ends  of 
the  sonnet  indicate:  "  that  is,  he  wishes  us  to  believe 
that  he  really  had  Beatrice  in  mind  while  writing  these 
verses  ostensibly  declaring  his  love  for  another.  The 
sonnet  runs  as  follows: 

O  ye  who  walk  along  the  lovers'  way, 
Ah  look,  give  heed,  and  stay! 

Is  any  grief  as  great  as  mine,  or  sad  ? 
Just  bear  to  hear  my  tale,  't  is  all  I  pray; 
Then  judge,  yourselves,  and  say 

My  fate  's  the  sole  abode  of  all  that 's  bad. 


36  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

'T  was  not  my  despicable  merit,  nay, 
'T  was  Love's  own  gentle  ray 

That  made  my  life  so  bright  and  sweet  and  glad, 
I  often  heard  men  whisper:  "  Look,"  said  they, 
"  What  worthiness  to-day 

Gives  him  the  lightest  heart  he  ever  had  ?  " 
But  now  my  cheerfulness  is  sunken  low, 

Which  Love's  abundance  once  bestowed  on  me; 

I  dwell  in  poverty 
So  dire,  my  words  are  all  afraid  to  flow. 

I  fain  would  imitate  some  men  I  see, 
WTho,  moved  by  shame,  dissimulate  their  woe: 
With  joyous  face  I  go, 

While  in  my  heart  I  melt  with  misery. 

The  next  episode  is  the  decease  of  the  youthful  friend 
of  Beatrice.    Close  upon  it  ensues  a  new  love. 

Riding  along  one  day,  with  burdened  breast, 
Upon  a  road  that  cost  me  many  a  frown, 
I  met  with  Love,  who  journeyed  toward  the  town, 

In  habit  like  a  pilgrim  lightly  drest. 

His  look  was  that  of  some  one  sore  distrest; 
He  seemed  a  monarch  who  had  lost  his  crown, 
As  sighing  mournfully  he  came  adown, 

With  face,  to  shun  remark,  netherward  prest. 

Beholding  me,  he  called  to  me  by  name. 
"  I  come,"  he  said,  "  afar  from  over  there, 
Where  dwelt  thy  heart,  as  once  I  bade  it  do. 
Now  here  I  bring  it,  new  delight  to  woo." 
Then  I  absorbed  of  him  so  great  a  share, 

He  disappeared.     God  knows  what  he  became! 


VIOLETTA  37 

Now  comes  the  climax.  "  After  my  return  I  began 
to  hunt  for  this  lady  whom  my  Lord  had  named  to  me 
on  the  road  of  sighs.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  I 
declare  that  within  a  little  while  I  had  made  her  my 
screen  to  such  a  degree  that  exceeding  many  people 
talked  thereof  beyond  the  bounds  of  courtesy.  And  for 
this  reason  (that  is,  because  of  the  exaggerated  report 
which  seemed  to  accuse  me  of  vice)  that  most  gentle 
one,  destroyer  of  all  vices  and  queen  of  virtues,  passing 
through  a  certain  place,  denied  me  her  very  sweet  salu- 
tation, in  which  consisted  all  my  happiness." 

To  this  second  protective  lady  Dante  surely  must 
have  sent  poems.  For  the  first  screen  lady  he  himself 
tells  us  he  wrote  "  certain  little  things  in  rime,"  one  of 
which  is  included  in  the  New  Life.  To  the  youthful 
friend  of  Beatrice,  for  whom  he  composed  two  elegies 
after  her  death,  he  may  very  well  have  addressed  a  song 
or  two  while  she  was  alive.  Here,  then,  is  a  little  group 
at  least  one  degree  nearer  than  the  inaccessible  "  sixty :  " 
here,  nameless  and  shadowy,  to  be  sure,  are  three  young 
persons  who  may  with  some  plausibility  claim  stray 
bits  of  lyric  homage  from  Dante's  pen. 

Among  such  creations,  ascribed  to  Dante  and  pre- 
sumably authentic,  we  find  one  more  flower-ballad, 
Per  una  ghirlandetta,  a  song  with  a  chorus  and  three 
strophes,  with  which  we  may  end  our  search,  as  we 
began  it  with  the  ballad  of  Violet.  It  does  not  mean 
much,  but  it  fascinates  with  its  strange  daintiness  and, 


38  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

above  all,  with  its  mystery.  If  we  really  knew  all  about 
it,  I  dare  say  half  its  charm  would  be  gone. 

Chorus 

The  memory  of  a  garland 
Shall  always  make  me  sigh 
Whene'er  I  see  a  flower. 

I 

One  day  I  saw  thee,  Lady,  wearing 
A  tiny  garland,  fresh  from  Maying; 
And  over  it  a  fay  was  faring, 
A  modest  little  love-sprite,  swaying, 

With  cunning  music  saying: 

"  Whoso  shall  me  espy 

Shall  praise  my  Master's  power." 

The  memory  of  a  garland 

Shall  always  make  me  sigh 

Whene'er  I  see  a  flower. 

II 

If  I,  O  floweret  sweet  and  fairest, 
Come  close  enough  to  see  thee  twining, 
"  My  Lady,"  I  shall  say,  "  thou  bearest 
My  sighs  upon  thy  head  reclining." 

But  then,  to  prick  my  pining, 

My  Lady  shall  come  nigh 

New-crowned  from  Cupid's  bower. 

The  memory  of  a  garland 

Shall  always  make  me  sigh 

Whene'er  I  see  a  flower. 


VIOLETTA  39 

III 


My  curious  little  words  to  fashion 
A  ballad  out  of  flowers  have  striven, 
Stealing,  to  decorate  their  passion, 
A  garment  once  to  others  given. 

I  beg  thee,  then,  by  Heaven : 
What  man  the  song  shall  try, 
Give  him  thy  richest  dower. 
The  memory  of  a  garland 
Shall  always  make  me  sigh 
Whene'er  I  see  a  flower. 


II.   MATELDA 

WE  are  invited  to  enter,  in  company  with  Dante, 
Virgil,  and  Statius,  into  the  Earthly  Paradise, 
which,  as  many  know,  is  situated  at  the  top  of  an  enor- 
mous mountain  —  the  mountain  of  Purgatory  —  on  a 
lonely  island  in  the  middle  of  the  great  ocean,  at  that 
point  of  the  earth's  surface  which  is  directly  opposite 
Jerusalem.  Christ's  atonement  was  therefore  at  the 
antipodes  of  Adam's  sin.  It  may  surprise  some  to  hear 
that  the  medieval  earth  was  round;  for  people  nowa- 
days generally  imagine  that  the  men  of  old  conceived  of 
their  habitation  as  flat.  That  is  an  error:  the  scholar- 
ship of  the  Middle  Ages,  following  the  lead  of  not  a  few 
Greek  and  Latin  authorities,  regarded  the  earth  as  a 
perfect  sphere,  solid  and  motionless  at  the  centre  of  a 
spherical  revolving  universe.  Most  of  our  globe  being 
covered  by  water,  the  land  (it  was  believed)  was  col- 
lected together  in  a  three-lobed  continent  on  one  quar- 
ter of  the  surface,  where  it  had  been  pulled  up  above  the 
aqueous  level,  at  the  time  of  creation,  by  the  united 
attraction  of  many  stars.  Just  in  the  middle  of  this 
continent  stands  Jerusalem ;  and  midway  between  Jeru- 
salem and  the  western  extremity  is  Rome,  centre  of  the 
Occident,  which  stretches  from  the  Holy  Land  to  the 
Strait  of  Gibraltar.  At  the  eastern  end,  on  the  furthest 

40 


MATELDA  41 

shore  of  the  Orient,  the  Ganges  empties  into  the  sea. 
Somewhere  inside  our  mundane  sphere  is  the  huge 
cavern  of  Hell;  there,  too,  was  Purgatory,  until  Dante 
drew  it  forth  and  gave  it  a  more  appropriate  location  on 
the  upper  slopes  of  a  sky-scraping  peak,  fit  symbol  of  the 
state  of  the  still  earthly  but  heavenward  striving  soul. 
Dante  it  was,  moreover,  who  fixed  the  position  of  the 
Earthly  Paradise  on  the  summit  of  this  mountain;  but 
this  geographical  innovation  did  not  involve  a  complete 
break  with  tradition,  as  did  his  displacement  of  Purga- 
tory. The  locality  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  had  always 
been  indefinite:  it  was  vaguely  in  the  East,  sometimes 
on  a  remote  island,  sometimes  on  a  well-nigh  inaccessible 
mountain-top.  Pious  travelers  had,  however,  occasion- 
ally succeeded  in  reaching  it.  St.  Brendan,  the  hardy 
navigator,  with  his  monastic  crew,  had  discovered  the 
Isle  of  the  Blest  in  the  Atlantic.  Others  had  espied  the 
sea-girt  Eden  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  earth,  on  the 
island  of  Ceylon.  Some  had  found  the  delectable  Gar- 
den on  a  distant  highland  of  Asia  —  three  monks,  for 
instance,  who,  following  up  a  stream  on  which  they  had 
seen  floating  a  branch  from  a  miraculous  tree,  scaled  an 
eminence  a  hundred  miles  high,  and  were  admitted  by 
an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword  to  the  Earthly  Paradise, 
where,  lulled  by  the  music  of  the  spheres  and  the  song  of 
marvelous  birds,  rapt  in  contemplation  of  the  Fountain 
of  Youth,  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  the  Tree  of  Immor- 
tality, the  Four  Springs,  a  host  of  wondrous  trees  and 


42  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

flowers,  a  lake  full  of  singing  fishes,  they  spent  seven 
hundred  years  which  seemed  to  them  less  than  seven 
days.  The  beautiful  birds,  flowers,  trees,  and  waters  are 
constant  features  of  the  Garden  of  Delight,  to  which 
they  belong  by  Biblical  authority.  Equally  Scriptural 
is  the  flaming  sword,  which,  nevertheless,  is  sometimes 
replaced  by  a  wall  of  fire.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Bible 
affords  no  explicit  warrant  for  the  presence  of  two  in- 
habitants whom  medieval  legend  habitually  assigned  to 
Eden:  namely,  the  patriarchs  Enoch  and  Elijah.  These 
godly  men,  who  had  been  caught  up  in  the  flesh,  were 
supposed  to  be  dwelling  in  the  Earthly  Paradise,  whence, 
on  the  Judgment  Day,  they  shall  issue  forth  to  combat 
the  Antichrist.  Their  venerable  figures  regularly  meet 
the  eyes  of  visitors  to  the  mysterious  garden. 

To  the  explorers  of  Dante's  Earthly  Paradise,  how- 
ever, they  do  not  appear.  Here,  again,  the  poet  is  an 
innovator.  His  Eden  of  perpetual  springtime  is  a  sym- 
bol of  youthful  innocence,  the  primal  state  of  humanity, 
a  state  which  the  individual  man  can  and  should  regain 
by  penance.  Hence  the  position  of  the  garden  at  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  of  Purgatory,  which  represents 
penitential  discipline.  Every  detail  in  Dante's  Eden 
being  intended  to  enhance  the  impression  of  pure  youth, 
it  is  evident  that  the  elderly  Enoch  and  Elijah,  sinless 
though  they  be,  would  there  be  out  of  place;  and  we 
hear  nothing  about  them.  In  their  stead  we  have  a  new 
figure,  a  lovely  and  loving  girl,  Matilda,  whose  closest 


MATELDA  43 

analogue  in  previous  legend  is  a  young  man  who  greets 
the  voyagers  in  St.  Brendan's  narrative.  This  maiden, 
the  genius  of  the  spot,  is  the  embodiment  of  youthful- 
ness  and  innocent  love  and  mirth;  she  typifies  the  joy 
of  living  when  life  is  without  sin. 

Evidently  she  is  both  associated  with  Beatrice  and  in 
a  way  contrasted  with  her.  As,  in  Christian  exegetical 
tradition,  Leah  and  Rachel,  the  daughters  of  Laban  the 
Syrian,  are  interpreted  respectively  as  the  active  and 
the  contemplative  life,  so  Matilda  stands  for  the  prin- 
ciple of  blameless  existence  here  below,  while  Beatrice 
symbolizes  divine  guidance  to  the  life  above.  The  anal- 
ogy is  clearly  enough  indicated  by  the  poet  himself  at 
the  point  where,  just  before  entering  Eden,  he  has  an 
allegorical  dream  of  a  very  Matilda-like  Leah,  who  com- 
pares her  own  activity  with  the  introspective  repose  of 
her  sister.  "  Two  goals,"  says  Dante  in  his  treatise  on 
Monarchy,  "  hath  our  mysterious  Providence  set  for 
man's  pursuit:  namely,  the  happiness  of  this  life,  which 
consists  in  the  exercise  of  human  virtue,  and  is  repre- 
sented by  the  Earthly  Paradise;  and  the  happiness  of 
life  eternal,  which  consists  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
divine  aspect,  whereto  human  virtue  cannot  attain  with- 
out the  help  of  divine  light,  and  which  is  meant  by  the 
Heavenly  Paradise.  Now,  to  these  happinesses,  as  to 
different  ends,  man  must  come  by  different  means.  For 
we  come  to  the  first  by  philosophical  teachings,  when  we 
follow  them,  acting  in  accordance  with  the  moral  and 


44  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

intellectual  virtues.  But  to  the  second  we  come  by 
spiritual  teachings,  which  transcend  human  reason, 
when  we  follow  them,  acting  in  accordance  with  the 
theological  virtues,  Faith,  Hope,  and  Love."  Regarded 
from  the  standpoint  of  this  passage,  however,  the  alle- 
gorical functions  of  Matilda  and  Beatrice  are  not  pre- 
cisely parallel;  for  the  former  corresponds  to  "  the 
happiness  of  this  life,"  while  the  latter  corresponds,  not 
to  "  the  happiness  of  life  eternal,  which  consists  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  divine  aspect,"  but  to  the  "  spiritual 
teachings  "  that  lead  us  to  it.  Beatrice  is  certainly  the 
symbol  of  revelation,  of  heavenly  guidance;  like  the 
angels,  she  is  an  intermediary  between  God  and  man. 
The  "  happiness  of  life  eternal,"  to  which  she  finally 
conducts  Dante,  is  figured  by  St.  Bernard,  the  type  of 
intuition,  or  "  enjoyment  of  the  divine  aspect."  Inas- 
much as  this  joy  in  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Lord 
is  the  culmination  of  the  poet's  spiritual  experience,  St. 
Bernard  does  not  appear  until  the  close  of  the  narrative; 
and  that,  no  doubt,  is  why  Rachel,  his  exact  counter- 
part, is  only  mentioned,  not  seen,  in  Dante's  prophetic 
dream. 

It  might  be  imagined  that,  as  Beatrice  stands  for  the 
"  spiritual  teachings  "  which  lead  to  happiness  eternal, 
so  Matilda  represents  the  "  philosophical  teachings  " 
which  guide  us  to  earthly  happiness.  In  that  case  she 
would  be  identical  with  the  lady  who,  in  the  Banquet 
and  in  a  number  of  the  unattached  lyrics,  symbolizes 


MATELDA  45 

philosophy  —  the  same  lady  who  weaned  Dante's  affec- 
tion away  from  the  departed  Beatrice,  in  the  latter 
chapters  of  the  New  Life.  But,  aside  from  the  name 
Matilda  (which  in  any  case  is  an  obstacle),  there  are 
several  objections  to  such  an  identification.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  not  this  maiden,  but  Virgil,  type  of  reason, 
who  conducts  Dante  to  the  Earthly  Paradise;  not  until 
after  he  had  entered  the  abode  of  "  the  happiness  of  this 
life  "  does  he  behold  her.  She  does,  indeed,  conduct  him 
to  meet  the  allegorical  procession  of  the  Church,  at  the 
centre  of  which  is  Beatrice;  but  that,  in  the  passage  of 
the  Monarchy  above  quoted,  is  not  philosophy's  office, 
which  is  guidance  to  mundane  happiness.  The  episode 
probably  signifies  that  religion  comes  to  receive  the 
sinner,  who  having  cleansed  himself  by  discipline,  goes, 
accompanied  by  purity,  to  seek  for  it.  One  other  duty 
is  entrusted  to  Matilda:  she  it  is  who,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Beatrice,  makes  Dante  and  other  souls  drink  first 
of  the  river  Lethe,  which  gives  forgetfulness  of  past  sin, 
then  of  the  river  Eunoe,  which  awakens  remembrance 
of  past  good  deeds.  It  is  fairly  clear  that  these  two 
draughts  constitute  absolution,  or  restoration  of  moral 
cleanness.  They  follow  an  extended  colloquy  which 
seems  to  represent  the  administration,  by  Beatrice  to 
Dante,  of  the  sacrament  of  penance,  with  its  three  stages 
of  contrition,  confession,  and  satisfaction.  Now,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  at  the  basis  of  the  argument  is  a 
strict  distinction  between  philosophy  and  religion;  and, 


46  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

this  being  the  case,  it  is  obvious  that  philosophy  can 
have  no  hand  in  the  purely  religious  rite  of  absolution; 
whereas  there  is  no  inappropriateness  in  a  revival  of  the 
state  of  innocence  by  the  instrumentality  of  a  figure 
representing  that  state. 

It  is  only  fair  to  admit  that  in  the  account  of  the 
second  part  of  this  purification  there  is  a  passage  which 
seems  to  lend  itself  to  the  other  interpretation.  In  the 
middle  of  the  garden  is  a  miraculous  perpetual  fountain, 
from  which  flow,  on  opposite  sides,  the  two  streams, 
Lethe  and  Eunoe,  just  as  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  were 
supposed  to  start  from  a  single  spring.  Although  this 
phenomenon  has  already  been  described  to  Dante  by 
Matilda,  he  is  struck  with  amazement  on  beholding  it, 
and  asks  Beatrice  for  an  explanation. 

"  O  light  and  glory  of  the  human  race, 
What  flood  is  this,  which  floweth  from  a  same 
And  single  source,  and  self  from  self  doth  chase  ?  " 

"  Now  ask,"  this  answer  to  my  question  came, 
"  Matilda  to  explain."     And  then  replied, 
As  one  who  shrinks  from  undeserved  blame, 

The  beauteous  lady:  "  This  and  more  beside 
Have  I  already  told;  and  well  I  wis, 
Such  things  can  Lethe's  waters  never  hide." 

"  A  greater  care,  perhaps,"  said  Beatrice, 
"  His  mental  eyes  hath  darkly  clouded  o'er; 
For  care  doth  memory  often  make  remiss. 

But  yonder  look,  where  Eunoe  doth  pour; 
Conduct  him  there,  and,  as  thy  habit  is, 
His  half-exhausted  faculties  restore." 


MATELDA  47 

Matilda's  sentence,  "  this  and  more  beside  have  I 
already  told,"  might  be  taken  to  refer  to  the  earlier 
teachings  of  philosophy,  blameless  in  themselves,  but 
now  forgotten  in  the  new  light  of  revelation.  It  can, 
however,  be  understood  as  referring  simply  to  the  pre- 
vious explanation  given  by  the  "  beauteous  lady,"  a 
few  cantos  before;  and  Dante's  forgetfulness  may  be 
due  to  the  inability  of  his  distracted  memory  to  recall 
things  that  are  good  and  hopeful  —  a  defect  which  is 
about  to  be  remedied  by  a  draught  of  Eunoe.  The 
occasion  of  the  incident  would  seem  to  be  a  desire  to 
illustrate  the  doctrine  that  the  obliteration  of  sad  recol- 
lections is  not  sufficient  for  true  happiness,  without  the 
restoration  of  cheerful  ones.  There  remains  the  phrase, 
"  as  thy  habit  is,"  which  might  be  interpreted  as  an 
indication  of  foregoing  long-continued  ministrations  of 
the  lady  to  Dante;  but  it  is  just  as  susceptible  of  the 
meaning,  "  as  thou  art  accustomed  to  do  with  all  the 
souls  that  pass  through  Eden  on  their  way  to  Heaven  "; 
and,  in  fact,  Matilda  does  administer  the  water  of  good 
memory  to  Statius  as  well  as  to  Dante. 

One  more  argument,  and  then  we  may  dismiss  the 
subject.  There  would  be  a  peculiar  fitness  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  poet  led  back  to  Beatrice  by  the  selfsame 
young  person  who,  perhaps  unwittingly,  had  drawn  him 
away  from  her  —  or  (if  it  be  preferable  to  deal  with  the 
allegorical  attributes  of  these  ladies)  led  back  to 
"  spiritual  teachings  "  by  those  "  philosophical  teach- 


48  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

ings  "  whose  charm  had  lured  him  away  from  complete 
absorption  in  the  spiritual.  It  is  noteworthy  that  the 
name  Matelda,  or  Matilda,  occurs,  for  the  first,  last,  and 
only  time,  in  the  short  speech  of  Beatrice  recently  cited : 
"  Now  ask  Matilda  to  explain."  Probably  this  use  of 
the  name  points  to  a  certain  intimacy  between  the  two 
real  ladies;  and  in  the  narrative  of  the  later  love  in  the 
New  Life  we  have  some  evidence  of  at  least  an  acquaint- 
ance between  Beatrice  and  the  lady  who  came  to  sym- 
bolize philosophy.  It  may  be  added,  in  passing,  that  in 
the  whole  Divine  Comedy  the  only  mention  of  Dante's 
own  name  is  made  by  Beatrice,  a  few  cantos  earlier. 
Now,  whatever  comfort  the  theory  under  discussion  may 
derive  from  this  consideration  is  dispelled  by  the  severe 
reproaches  addressed  to  the  poet  by  Beatrice,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Matilda,  for  his  infatuation  with  the  philosophi- 
cal lady.  It  is  hardly  conceivable  that  "  the  most  gentle 
one,"  who  is  evidently  in  perfect  accord  with  the  "beau- 
teous lady,"  should,  to  her  face,  disparage  the  latter. 
Here  is  her  first  reference  to  the  alienating  influence: 

"  When  I  from  flesh  to  spirit  rose  above, 

And  comeliness  and  virtue  in  me  grew, 

Less  dear  was  I  to  him,  cooler  his  love; 
His  steps  he  turned  upon  a  road  untrue, 

And  chased  deceptive  images  of  good, 

Which  promise  much,  but  never  pay  their  due." 

Once  more  referring  to  her  own  death,  and  this  time 
addressing  Dante,  she  touches  again  on  the  same  theme: 


MATELDA  49 

"  When  wounded  first  by  life's  inconstancy, 

Seeing  that  I  was  constant  evermore, 

Thou  shouldst  have  spread  thy  pinions  after  me, 
Thou  shouldst  have  suffered  naught  thy  wings  to  lower 

To  wait  for  further  hurt  —  nor  little  maid 

Nor  other  vanity  so  quickly  o'er." 

"  Little  maid,"  or  pargoletta,  is  an  epithet  bestowed 
more  than  once  by  Dante  on  the  philosophical  lady,  and 
its  use  here  by  Beatrice  is  evidently  intended  to  be 
specific.  Scarcely  could  we  picture  her  speaking  thus,  if 
the  "  little  maid  "  were  the  helpful  lady  at  Dante's  side. 
Having  convinced  ourselves  that  Matilda  does  not 
signify  philosophy,  and  consequently  does  signify  what 
she  seems  to  mean,  youthful  innocence  or  the  fresh  life 
of  blameless  activity,  we  may  pass  from  her  allegorical 
purpose  to  the  lady  herself,  as  she  comes  to  meet  us  in 
the  Garden  of  Eden.  Dante,  Virgil,  and  Statius,  who 
have  spent  the  night  on  the  stairway  between  Purgatory 
and  the  Earthly  Paradise,  enter  shortly  after  sunrise 
this  realm  of  delight.  I  quote  now  from  Longfellow's 
unrimed  translation  of  the  Divine  Comedy: 

Eager  already  to  search  in  and  round 

The  heavenly  forest,  dense  and  living-green, 
Which  tempered  to  the  eyes  the  new-born  day, 

Withouten  more  delay  I  left  the  bank, 
Taking  the  level  country  slowly,  slowly 
Over  the  soil  that  everywhere  breathes  fragrance. 

A  softly-breathing  air,  that  no  mutation 


50  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Had  in  itself,  upon  the  forehead  smote  me 
No  heavier  blow  than  of  a  gentle  wind, 

Whereat  the  branches,  lightly  tremulous, 

Did  all  of  them  bow  downward  toward  that  side 
Where  its  first  shadow  casts  the  Holy  Mountain; 

Yet  not  from  their  upright  position  swayed 
So  that  the  little  birds  upon  their  tops 
Should  leave  the  practice  of  each  art  of  theirs; 

But  with  full  ravishment  the  hours  of  prime, 
Singing,  received  they  in  the  midst  of  leaves, 
That  ever  bore  a  burden  to  their  rhymes, 

Such  as  from  branch  to  branch  goes  gathering  on 
Through  the  pine  forest  on  the  shore  of  Chiassi, 
When  Eolus  unlooses  the  Sirocco. 

Already  my  slow  steps  had  carried  me 
Into  the  ancient  wood  so  far  that  I 
Could  not  perceive  where  I  had  entered  it. 

And  lo!  my  further  course  a  stream  cut  off, 

Which  tow'rd  the  left  hand  with  its  little  waves 
Bent  down  the  grass  that  on  its  margin  sprang. 

All  waters  that  on  earth  most  limpid  are 

Would  seem  to  have  within  themselves  some  mixture 
Compared  with  that,  which  nothing  doth  conceal, 

Although  it  moves  on  with  a  brown,  brown  current 
Under  the  shade  perpetual,  that  never 
Ray  of  the  sun  lets  in,  nor  of  the  moon. 

With  feet  I  stayed,  and  with  mine  eyes  I  passed 
Beyond  the  rivulet,  to  look  upon 
The  great  variety  of  the  fresh  May. 

And  there  appeared  to  me  (even  as  appears 


MATELDA  51 

Suddenly  something  that  doth  turn  aside 
Through  very  wonder  every  other  thought) 

A  lady  all  alone,  who  went  along 

Singing  and  culling  floweret  after  floweret, 
With  which  her  pathway  was  all  painted  over. 

"  Ah,  beauteous  lady,  who  in  rays  of  love 
Dost  warm  thyself,  if  I  may  trust  to  looks, 
Which  the  heart's  witnesses  are  wont  to  be, 

May  the  desire  come  unto  thee  to  draw 
Near  to  this  river's  bank,"  I  said  to  her, 
"  So  much  that  I  may  hear  what  thou  art  singing. 

Thou  makest  me  remember  where  and  what 
Proserpina  that  moment  was  when  lost 
Her  mother  her,  and  she  herself  the  Spring." 

As  turns  herself,  with  feet  together  pressed 
And  to  the  ground,  a  lady  who  is  dancing, 
And  hardly  puts  one  foot  before  the  other, 

On  the  vermilion  and  the  yellow  flowerets 
She  turned  towards  me,  not  in  other  wise 
Than  maiden  who  her  modest  eyes  casts  down; 

And  my  entreaties  made  to  be  content, 

So  near  approaching,  that  the  dulcet  sound 
Came  unto  me  together  with  its  meaning. 

As  soon  as  she  was  where  the  grasses  are 

Bathed  by  the  waters  of  the  beauteous  river, 
To  lift  her  eyes  she  granted  me  the  boon. 

I  do  not  think  there  shone  so  great  a  light 
Under  the  lids  of  Venus,  when  transfixed 
By  her  own  son,  beyond  his  usual  custom! 

Erect  upon  the  other  bank  she  smiled, 


52  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Bearing  full  many  colours  in  her  hands, 
Which  that  high  land  produces  without  seed. 

Apart  three  paces  did  the  river  make  us; 
But  Hellespont,  where  Xerxes  passed  across, 
(A  curb  still  to  all  human  arrogance,) 

More  hatred  from  Leander  did  not  suffer 
For  rolling  between  Sestos  and  Abydos, 
Than  that  from  me,  because  it  oped  not  then. 

After  describing  to  them  the  wonders  of  Eden,  she 
resumes  her  song  and  leads  the  poets  beside  the  stream. 

Singing  like  unto  an  enamoured  lady, 

She,  with  the  ending  of  her  words,  continued: 

"  Beati  quorum  tecta  sunt  peccata" 
And  even  as  Nymphs,  that  wandered  all  alone 

Among  the  sylvan  shadows,  sedulous 

One  to  avoid  and  one  to  see  the  sun, 
She  then  against  the  stream  moved  onward,  going 

Along  the  banks,  and  I  abreast  of  her, 

Her  little  steps  with  little  steps  attending. 
Between  her  steps  and  mine  were  not  a  hundred, 

When  equally  the  margins  gave  a  turn, 

In  such  a  way  that  to  the  East  I  faced. 
Nor  even  thus  our  way  continued  far 

Before  the  lady  wholly  turned  herself 

Unto  me,  saying,  "  Brother,  look  and  listen!  " 

Then  it  is  that  the  pageant  of  the  Church  approaches. 
What  strikes  one  most  in  all  this  passage  is  the  vernal 
atmosphere,  the  merging  of  the  lady  into  the  springtime, 


MATELDA  53 

or  rather,  perhaps,  the  embodiment  of  springtime  in  the 
lady.  Does  this  give  us  any  clue  to  her  identity  ?  No 
doubt  she  is  a  real  person:  Dante's  allegorical  figures 
are  habitually  drawn  from  reality.  Is  there,  among  the 
damsels  sung  in  our  poet's  lyric  verse,  any  one  endowed 
with  such  springlike  attributes  ?  Our  minds  turn  at 
once  to  the  flower-ballads  previously  cited,  to  Violet 
and  the  maiden  of  the  garland.  However,  in  the  list  of 
poems  sometimes  ascribed  to  Dante  there  is  another 
ballad  still  more  suggestive  of  our  "  beauteous  lady." 
Here  are  the  refrain  and  the  first  of  the  three  strophes : 

Chorus 

O  rosebud  fresh  and  new, 

O  springtime  full  of  charm, 

On  river-bank  and  farm 
In  ever  joyous  song 
Thy  praise  I  pass  along 
To  all  the  wood. 

I 

O  be  thy  perfect  praise 
Gladly  renewed  by  all, 
By  singers  great  and  small, 
O'er  all  the  country  ways! 
May  birds  thy  fame  recall, 
Each  in  his  special  tongue 
(Let  day  be  old  or  young) 
On  tree-tops  green  and  tall! 


54  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Since  now  the  time  is  come, 
The  fitting  time  of  spring, 
Let  everybody  sing 

The  glory  of  thy  throne; 
For  thou  art  Heaven's  own, 
So  sweet  and  good. 

This  rather  mediocre  poem  is  doubtless  not  by  Dante, 
but  it  is  probably  connected  with  him,  nevertheless.  It 
may  be  observed  that  in  the  second  line  the  lady  is  called 
"  Springtime,"  Primavera.  Now,  among  Dante's  female 
acquaintances,  as  we  happen  to  know,  there  was  one  who 
bore  that  nickname;  she  was,  for  a  while,  the  sweetheart 
of  his  first  friend,  Guido  Cavalcanti,  and  her  real  name 
was  Giovanna  or  Vanna,  which  is  our  Joan.  For  this 
reason  it  has  been  conjectured  that  Cavalcanti  wrote  the 
ballad — a  conjecture  plausible  enough,  though  far  from 
sure.  "Springtime"  may,  indeed,  in  this  verse,  be  merely 
an  epithet  of  general  application,  like  the  "  rosebud  "  of 
the  first  line.  "  Rose  "  is  always  a  favorite  name  for  one's 
beloved,  both  in  literary  and  in  popular  song.  It  occurs, 
for  instance,  in  a  famous  and  much-discussed  poem,  one 
of  the  early  examples  of  Italian  versification,  the  Rosa 
fresca  aulentissima,  which  consists  of  a  burlesque  dia- 
logue, perhaps  a  student's  parody  of  the  fashionable 
amatory  colloquy: 

Rose,  fresh  and  odoriferous,  that  quick  in  spring  appearest, 
The  married  and   the    single  folk  —  all  people   hold  thee 

dearest. 


MATELDA  55 

From  raging  flames  now  rescue  me,  if  humble  prayer  thou 

nearest ! 

For  thee  by  day  and  night  I  sadly  pine, 
Thinking  of  thee  alone,  O  lady  mine! 

The  vernal  note  is  inherent  in  the  dance-song  from  the 
beginning,  as  dances  are  especially  connected  with 
spring.  It  is  not,  however,  peculiar  to  this  type  of  verse, 
but  is  apt  to  pervade  love-poetry  of  all  kinds.  There  is, 
of  course,  not  only  a  traditional,  but  also  a  natural, 
spontaneous  bond  between  love  and  springtide,  the 
mating  season.  In  the  extant  poetry  of  southern  France, 
this  association,  which  has  already  become  a  literary 
convention,  usually  confines  itself,  in  the  courtly  love- 
lyric,  to  a  more  or  less  perfunctory  mention  of  flowers 
and  birds  in  the  opening  stanza.  Here  is  a  pretty 
example  from  the  Provencal  poet  Arnaut  de  Maruelh, 
translated  by  Justin  H.  Smith: 

Fair  to  me  is  April,  bearing 

Winds  that  o'er  me  softly  blow,  — 
Nightingales  their  music  airing 

While  the  stars  serenely  glow; 
All  the  birds,  as  they  have  power, 

While  the  dews  of  morning  wait, 
Sing  of  joy  in  sky  or  bower, 

Each  consorting  with  his  mate. 

The  early  Italian  poets,  continuing  the  French  tradition, 
sometimes  developed  the  spring  theme  with  consider- 
able freedom.  For  instance,  Rinaldo  d' Aquino,  one  of 


56  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

the  songsters  of  Emperor  Frederick's  group,  paid 
tribute  to  the  new  season  thus: 

When  woods  rejoice 
And  banks  are  seen 

Fresh  flowering, 
The  birds  give  voice 
Within  the  green, 
Their  song  to  sing 
To  greet  the  spring, 
Which  cometh  now 
With  beaming  brow 
Fresh  garlanded: 
Now  grief  is  sped 
And  care  takes  wing. 

The  breath  of  lawns, 
The  voice  of  birds 

Move  me  to  love. 
WThen  daylight  dawns, 
I  hear  soft  words, 
New  airs,  above, 
From  thrush  and  dove; 
And  welcoming 
The  joyous  spring, 
They  still  prolong 
The  strife  of  song 

Through  all  the  grove. 

In  the  following  lines,  his  colleague,  Giacomino  Pugliese, 
beginning  in  the  same  joyous  tone,  ends  in  a  plaintive 
key: 


MATELDA  57 

When  flowers  once  more  are  seen 

In  meadows,  by  the  stream, 
And,  chirping  in  the  green, 

The  merry  birdlets  seem 
To  greet  the  spring  with  glee, 

Then  I,  with  joyous  mien, 
Carol  right  cheerily, 

The  woes  of  love  to  screen; 
For  lovers  still  do  languish  piteously. 

Returning  to  Cavalcanti's  Primavera,  let  us  recall 
Dante's  exquisite  sonnet  often  called,  after  Rossetti,  the 
"  Boat  of  Love,"  a  poetic  fancy  that  seems  to  perpetuate 
the  evanescent  spring  dreams  of  amorous  youth: 

Guido,  I  wrish  that  Lapo,  thou,  and  I 
Were  put  aboard  a  boat  by  magic  art, 
Which  wafted  by  the  winds,  without  a  chart, 

Obedient  to  our  wish,  should  seaward  fly; 

And  ne'er  a  storm  nor  unpropitious  sky 
Should  tear  our  little  company  apart, 
But,  living  always  with  a  single  heart, 

Our  joy  in  one  another  should  not  die. 

To  us  I  wish  the  wizard  kind  wrould  add 
My  Lady  Vanna,  Lady  Lagia,  too, 

And  her  who  doth  on  number  thirty  dwell, 
With  love  the  only  tale  we  had  to  tell! 
I  wish  that  they  should  ne'er  their  coming  rue, 

As  I  believe  that  we  should  ne'er  be  sad ! 

The  mysterious  "  number  thirty,"  under  which  is  hid- 
den the  identity  of  Dante's  own  sweetheart,  we  shall 


58  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

have  to  investigate  later  on.  In  the  list  of  ladies,  Vanna 
(surnamed  Primavera)  comes  first,  as  is  natural  enough, 
since  the  author  is  addressing  her  lover.  But  there  is 
another  poem  in  which  Vanna  precedes  Beatrice  with- 
out quite  the  same  reason,  Guido  not  being  mentioned 
in  the  verses.  The  sonnet  in  question  is  in  the  New  Life, 
preceded  by  a  curious  introduction,  to  which  the  study 
of  Beatrice  will  ere  long  compel  us  to  revert.  For  the 
present,  let  it  suffice  to  note  Dante's  strange  insistence 
on  the  conceit  that  this  lady  was  foreordained  to  walk 
before  Beatrice,  even  as  John  the  Baptist  came  before 
Christ,  and  that  this  predestination  is  indicated  by  her 
very  nickname,  Primavera,  which  suggests  prima  verra, 
"  she  shall  come  first."  The  sonnet,  Dante  tells  us,  was 
addressed  to  Guido,  which  would  appear  to  be  a  suffi- 
cient explanation  of  Giovanna's  precedence;  but  the 
poet  preferred  to  give  it  a  mystic  significance.  Of  the 
personality  of  this  lady  we  know  nothing  —  except  that 
perhaps  her  father's  name  was  Philip. 

I  felt  awakening  within  my  breast 

A  loving  spirit  that  was  slumbering, 
And  Love  I  saw  arrive  from  distant  quest, 

So  joyous  that  he  seemed  another  thing. 
"  In  praise  of  me,"  he  cried,  "  now  do  thy  best!  " 

And  every  word  he  spake  did  laugh  and  sing. 
Now  when  my  Lord  so  gayly  me  addrest, 

I  lookt  to  see  whence  he  had  taken  wing: 
Vanna  with  Bice  coming  did  I  see 


MATELDA  59 

Toward  the  spot  where  I  expectant  stood, 

One  miracle  the  other  close  behind; 
And  as  my  memory  reports  to  me, 

"  Springtime  is  this,"  declared  my  Master  good, 
"  The  other,  Love,  who  's  like  to  me  in  kind." 

In  this  Vanna  we  seem  to  find  the  characteristics 
required  for  a  possible  identification  with  the  "  beau- 
teous lady  "  of  the  Earthly  Paradise.  I  say  "  possible," 
because  our  ignorance  is  such  that  all  evidence  is  of 
necessity  tenuous,  and  we  have  no  better  guide  than 
varying  shades  of  likelihood.  Vanna  was  associated, 
both  in  life  and  in  the  poet's  fancy,  with  Beatrice.  He 
thought  of  her  as  preceding  the  "  most  gentle  one,"  as 
John  the  Baptist  prepared  the  way  of  the  Lord,  and  as 
the  lady  of  Eden  appeared  to  Dante  in  the  garden  before 
Beatrice  and  led  the  way  to  her.  Moreover,  she  em- 
bodies in  her  person  and  expresses  in  her  name  the  ver- 
nal quality  that  the  "  beauteous  lady  "  personifies.  To 
be  sure,  this  lady  is  certainly  a  departed  spirit,  and  we 
do  not  know  that  Vanna  was  dead  in  1300,  the  year  of 
the  mystic  journey  described  in  the  Divine  Comedy;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  are  not  sure  that  she  was  not. 
And,  as  I  have  said,  we  are  merely  guessing. 

There  is,  however,  one  element  of  implausibility  in 
our  guess,  a  flaw  that  would  have  been  immediately 
apparent,  had  I,  in  the  preceding  argument,  mentioned 
the  "  beauteous  lady  "  by  name.  She  is  called  Matelda, 
not  Vanna  nor  Primavera.  Her  name  occurs,  indeed, 


60  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

only  once;  but  once  is  enough.  The  name  is  there,  and 
we  cannot  escape  from  it.  And  as  yet  no  ingenuity  has 
succeeded  in  tracing  any  connection  between  Matelda 
and  either  of  the  names  of  Cavalcanti's  sweetheart. 
Moreover,  Dante  apparently  knew  Giovanna  so  well 
that  he  should  have  recognized  her,  even  in  the  Earthly 
Paradise;  whereas,  in  his  account  of  his  meeting  with 
the  "  beauteous  lady,"  there  is  no  trace  of  recognition. 
We  must,  therefore,  reluctantly  give  up  this  trail  and 
look  elsewhere.  Unhappily  we  shall  discover  no  other 
clue  that  promises  so  well. 

The  early  commentators  on  the  Divine  Comedy,  bas- 
ing their  identification  of  the  keeper  of  Eden  on  her 
name  alone,  declared  that  she  is  a  certain  Grand  Coun- 
tess Matilda,  an  important  figure  in  the  earlier  annals  of 
Tuscany;  and  a  few  modern  interpreters  follow  their 
course.  But  the  Countess,  an  august,  almost  masculine 
personage,  whose  mature  years  rather  than  her  youth 
were  stamped  on  tradition,  has  nothing  but  her  name  in 
common  with  our  lady;  and  the  name,  while  it  may 
suffice  to  exclude  a  candidate,  should  count  for  little  or 
nothing  in  admitting  one,  unless  supported  by  manifest 
fitness.  For  Dante  presumably  knew  many  a  Matilda 
totally  unknown  to  us,  while  some  medieval  Matildas 
with  whom  WTC  are  acquainted  were  surely  outside  his 
ken.  This  objection  applies,  but  not  in  the  same  meas- 
ure, to  the  attempt  made,  by  several  eminent  scholars 
of  our  day,  to  find  Dante's  Matilda  in  the  person  of  one 


MATELDA  61 

or  another  nun  of  that  name.  One  pious  lady  in  partic- 
ular, St.  Mechteldis  of  Hackeborn,  has  recently  claimed 
much  attention,  because  of  a  recorded  vision  of  hers, 
which  at  some  points  reminds  one  of  Dante's  portrayal 
of  Purgatory  and  the  Earthly  Paradise.  No  such  resem- 
blance, however,  and  no  similarity  of  name  should  blind 
us  to  the  evident  impropriety  of  picturing  a  nun  as  our 
poet  pictures  his  Matilda: 

Ah,  beauteous  lady,  who  in  rays  of  love 

Dost  warm  thyself  .  .  . 
I  do  not  think  there  shone  so  great  a  light 

Under  the  lids  of  Venus  .  .  . 

Furthermore,  Dante's  lady  is  evidently  a  creature  of  the 
active  life,  of  which  Leah  is  the  recognized  type;  and  a 
nun  could  appropriately  symbolize  no  other  life  than 
that  of  contemplation.  One  gathers,  too,  from  an  un- 
prejudiced reading  of  the  poem,  the  impression  that 
Matilda  is  a  contemporary  and  probably  a  companion 
of  Beatrice,  rather  than  some  remote  character  taken 
from  a  book.  Singing,  picking  flowers  beside  a  stream, 
dancing  as  she  turns,  she  suggests  the  ballad  ladies  we 
have  met,  far  more  than  a  Grand  Countess  or  a  nun. 

Who  knows  whether  there  may  not  have  been  a  Ma- 
tilda, or  several  Matildas,  in  Dante's  lost  poem  which 
enumerated  "  the  sixty  most  beautiful  ladies  of  the 
city,"  the  serventese  he  wrote  when  he  was  paying  hom- 
age to  the  lady  who  sat  in  church  midway  between  him- 
self and  Beatrice  ?  It  is  with  that  youthful  phase  of  his 


62  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

life,  not  with  his  more  serious  and  bookish  years,  that  we 
instinctively  associate  the  blithesome  maiden  of  the 
delectable  garden.  In  a  half  dozen  of  the  earlier  chapters 
of  the  New  Life  we  have  already  found  three  young 
ladies,  other  than  Beatrice,  to  whom  Dante  did  poetic 
service.  Now,  one  of  the  three  —  the  second  —  possesses 
at  least  one  qualification  for  the  office  of  prototype  of 
the  "  beauteous  lady  ":  she  was  certainly  dead  before 
1300.  Besides,  she  sometimes  consorted  with  Beatrice. 
Fortunately,  perhaps,  for  our  hypothesis,  we  are  igno- 
rant of  her  name;  but  her  character,  as  described  by 
Dante,  is  not  different  from  that  of  his  Matilda.  On  the 
other  hand,  one  of  the  objections  urged  against  Gio- 
vanna  is  valid  also  in  her  case:  it  is  not  apparent  why 
Dante  should  not  have  recognized  her  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden,  as  he  would  seem  to  have  known  her  fairly  well. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  died  some  fifteen  years  before  that 
encounter  on  the  mystic  journey,  her  death  having 
occurred  just  before  the  meeting  with  Love  which  led  to 
the  transfer  of  Dante's  heart  from  the  first  screen  lady 
to  the  second,  and  not  long  after  the  departure  of  the 
first  from  Florence. 

"  After  the  departure  of  this  gentle  lady,  it  was  the 
pleasure  of  the  Lord  of  angels  to  call  to  his  glory  a 
youthful  lady  of  right  gentle  aspect,  who  was  very 
gracious  in  the  aforesaid  city.  Her  body  did  I  see  lying 
without  the  soul,  in  the  midst  of  many  ladies,  who  were 
weeping  very  piteously.  Then,  remembering  that 


MATELDA  63 

formerly  I  had  seen  her  in  company  with  that  most 
gentle  one  [Beatrice],  I  could  not  restrain  some  tears; 
but  rather,  weeping,  I  resolved  to  write  some  words  con- 
cerning her  death  in  compensation  for  my  having  some- 
times seen  her  with  my  lady.  And  to  this  I  made  some 
allusion  in  the  last  part  of  the  words  I  wrote  of  her,  as  is 
clearly  apparent  to  one  who  understands.  And  then  I 
wrote  these  two  sonnets,  the  first  of  which  begins 
*  Piangete  amanti  ';  the  second,  '  Morte  villana.'  ' 

Let  us  consider  first  the  latter  poem,  which,  the  author 
has  notified  us,  contains  at  the  end  a  covert  reference  to 
the  companionship  of  this  lady  with  Beatrice.  This  can 
signify  only  that  some  of  the  closing  lines  have  a  double 
meaning,  for  which  we  must  look  with  particular  care. 
Here  is  the  poem,  a  sonetto  rinterzato: 

O  mean,  ungentle  Death,  sweet  pity's  foe, 
Old  ancestor  of  woe, 

Inevitable  sentence,  and  malign! 

Since  thou  hast  stricken  so  this  heart  of  mine 

That  I  must  ever  pine, 

Blame  thee  I  must,  till  tongue  shall  weary  grow. 
Would  I  make  thee  for  mercy  begging  go, 
To  all  the  world  I'd  show 

That  one  supremely  sinful  sin  of  thine; 

Not  that  the  world  hath  seen  thereof  no  sign, 

But  rather  to  incline 

To  wrath  all  those  the  food  of  Love  who  know. 
By  thee  our  life  is  robbed  of  courtesy 


64  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

And  all  the  goodness  we  to  woman  trace; 

Youth's  joyous  face 

Hath  lost  its  loving  charm  because  of  thee. 
I  will  not  tell  who  may  this  lady  be, 

Save  by  her  virtues  known  in  every  place. 

Unless  one  merit  grace, 
One  never  must  expect  such  company. 

The  phrases  "  joyous  youth,"  gaia  gioventute,  and  "  lov- 
ing charm,"  amorosa  leggiadria,  are  exactly  those  one 
would  choose  to  describe  Dante's  Matilda.  As  to  the 
mysterious  "  allusion  in  the  last  part  of  the  words,"  we 
who  have  been  forewarned  can  see  that  while  the  last 
two  lines, 

Unless  one  merit  grace, 
One  never  must  expect  such  company, 

obviously  mean  "  one  who  deserves  not  salvation  must 
never  hope  to  see  this  maiden  again,"  they  are  suscep- 
tible also  of  the  interpretation,  "  one  who  is  undeserving 
of  grace  from  a  lady  must  not  expect  to  have  such 
company  as  this  damsel  enjoyed  "  —  namely,  the  com- 
pany of  Beatrice.  The  Italian  word  salute,  which  I  have 
translated  "grace,"  means  both  "salvation"  and  "salu- 
tation ";  and  Dante's  chief  happiness,  as  he  tells  us, 
consisted  in  the  salutation  of  Beatrice,  wrhich  he  pres- 
ently forfeited  by  his  indiscreet  attentions  to  another 
lady.  "  Such  company  "  is,  in  the  original,  sua  com- 
pagnia,  which  means  "  her  company  ":  that  is,  either 


MATELDA  65 

"  the  companionship  of  her  "  or  "  the  companionship 
which  she  had." 

Now,  I  do  not  believe  that  this  elaborate  play  on 
words  was  in  the  author's  mind  when  he  composed  the 
verses.  It  was  one  of  the  many  afterthoughts  which  the 
maturer  Dante,  collecting  and  explaining  his  youthful 
productions,  read  into  them.  As  originally  conceived, 
the  poem  was  probably  a  simple  elegy  on  the  passing  of 
a  young  favorite  of  Florentine  society.  Such  mourning 
verse  constituted  a  distinct  type,  called  in  Italian  com- 
pianto,  "  complaint,"  in  Provengal  planh,  "  plaint." 
The  loss  lamented  was  usually  that  of  one's  beloved  or 
of  a  patron  or  sovereign.  Dante's  friend,  Cino  da 
Pistoia,  wrote  compianti  on  the  death  of  Beatrice  and  of 
Emperor  Henry  VII.  In  Provengal  we  find  more  than 
one  touching  elegy  on  the  death  of  Richard  I  of  Eng- 
land. The  early  Italian  school  offers  several  good  speci- 
mens of  the  genre  —  for  instance,  this  bit  of  Giacomino 
Pugliese,  one  of  the  so-called  Sicilian  group: 

Death,  why  dost  thou  afflict  me  with  such  pain, 
Stealing  my  love,  and  with  her  all  my  mirth  ? 

The  flower  of  earthly  beauty  hast  thou  slain; 
Now  have  I  naught  to  live  for,  here  on  earth. 

Discourteous  Death,  to  treat  my  pleading  so! 

Thou'st  parted  lovers,  frozen  pleasure's  glow, 
Till  all  is  sad. 

My  former  gayety  is  turned  to  woe, 

For  thou  hast  killed  all  comfort  here  below, 
Which  once  I  had. 


66  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Pleasure  and  sport  and  laughter  once  I  knew 
Better  by  far  than  any  other  knight; 

But  when  my  lady  forth  to  Heaven  flew, 

Sweet  hope  went  with  her,  and  forsook  me  quite. 

Grief  have  I  still,  and  endless  tears  and  sighs; 

Society  and  sport  and  song  and  prize 
Are  all  forbid. 

No  more  I  see  her  at  my  coming  rise, 

No  more  she  turns  upon  me  her  sweet  eyes, 
As  once  she  did. 

Going  back  to  the  "  youthful  lady  of  right  gentle 
aspect,  who  was  very  gracious  in  the  aforesaid  city,"  let 
us  now  hear  the  first  of  the  two  elegies  which  Dante 
composed  on  her  death.  And  on  taking  leave  of  this 
maiden,  so  full  of  "  joyous  youth  "  and  "  loving  charm," 
let  us  venture,  for  once,  to  call  her  Matilda. 

Ye  lovers,  sigh!  for  Love,  our  Master,  sighs. 

Now  learn  what  grief  hath  banisht  all  his  glee: 

Love  heareth  ladies  calling  piteously, 
Their  bitter  pain  revealing  thro'  their  eyes. 
Discourteous  Death  has  set  in  cruel  wise 

Upon  a  noble  heart  his  stern  decree, 

Destroying  what  in  noble  ladies  we, 
Beside  their  good  repute,  on  earth  do  prize. 
What  honor  Love  bestowed  on  her,  now  guess! 

I  saw  his  very  self  lamenting  there 

Over  the  charming  form  that  lifeless  lay, 
Lifting  his  mournful  gaze  to  Heaven  alway, 

Which  had  become  the  gentle  soul's  repair 
That  once  was  queen  of  all  in  joyousness. 


III.    PIETRA 

IN  discussing  the  problem  of  Dante's  Matilda,  the 
"  beauteous  lady  "  of  the  Earthly  Paradise,  we  were 
obliged  to  begin  our  investigation  by  determining  her 
allegorical  significance,  which,  for  the  understanding 
and  appreciation  of  the  poem,  is  vastly  more  important 
than  her  literal  but  obscure  self.  Very  much  the  same 
thing  may  be  said  of  the  other  leading  figures  in  the 
Divine  Comedy.  Of  the  flesh-and-blood  Beatrice  we 
know  next  to  nothing;  in  fact,  we  are  somewhat  in 
doubt  whether  Boccaccio  was  right  in  identifying  her 
with  Beatrice  Portinari,  and  we  are  not  quite  certain 
even  that  her  name  was  really  Beatrice.  What  we  do 
know  is  that  in  the  poet's  mystic  journey  she  symbol- 
izes revelation,  or  "  spiritual  teachings,"  an  indispen- 
sable guide  to  Heaven.  For  this  purpose  any  other  good 
and  beautiful  lady,  sufficiently  idealized,  would  have 
served  as  well.  Cato  of  Utica  and  St.  Bernard  of  Clair- 
vaux  are  well-known  characters  and  excellent  examples, 
respectively,  of  free  will  and  intuition;  but  it  is  easily 
conceivable  that  Dante  should,  without  changing  the 
tenor  of  his  story,  have  chosen  different  representatives 
of  these  qualities;  whereas  the  narrative  would  not  have 
been  what  it  is  if  free  will  and  intuition  had  not  been 
figured  in  some  fashion.  For  his  Virgil,  the  poet  imag- 

67 


68  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

ined  a  distinct  and  living  personality,  quite  different 
from  the  Augustan  author  as  we  know  him,  but  in 
accord  with  the  medieval  conception  of  the  great  sage  of 
antiquity.  If,  however,  Dante  had  chosen  to  substitute 
Aristotle  for  Virgil  as  the  type  of  reason  or  human 
understanding,  the  Divine  Comedy,  though  at  some 
points  less  attractive,  would  have  been  essentially  the 
same;  while  it  could  not  have  proceeded  at  all  without 
some  appropriate  embodiment  of  reason,  to  conduct  the 
traveler  through  Hell  and  Purgatory. 

In  expounding  one  of  his  own  odes  in  his  Banquet, 
Dante,  following  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  defines  four 
modes  of  interpretation,  the  literal,  the  allegorical,  the 
moral,  and  the  anagogical.  With  the  two  latter  we  need 
not  concern  ourselves,  but  it  will  be  interesting  to  hear 
what  he  has  to  say  of  allegory.  "  I  declare  that,  as  was 
told  in  the  first  chapter,  this  exposition  should  be  literal 
and  allegorical.  And  to  make  this  intelligible,  it  must 
be  known  that  writings  can  be  understood  and  must  be 
explained,  for  the  most  part,  in  four  senses.  One  is 
called  literal,  and  this  is  the  one  that  does  not  extend 
beyond  the  letter  itself.  The  next  is  called  allegorical, 
and  this  is  the  one  that  is  concealed  beneath  the  mantle 
of  these  fables,  being  a  truth  hidden  under  pretty  fiction; 
as  when  Ovid  says  that  Orpheus  with  his  lyre  tamed 
wild  beasts  and  made  trees  and  stones  come  to  him: 
which  means  that  the  wise  man,  with  the  instrument  of 
his  voice,  makes  cruel  hearts  tame  and  humble,  and 


PIETRA  69 

draws  to  his  will  those  who  have  no  life  of  knowledge 
and  of  art,  since  those  who  have  no  rational  life  are  as 
stones.  And  why  this  concealment  was  invented  by  the 
sages,  shall  be  shown  in  the  next-to-last  book.  To  be 
sure,  the  theologians  take  this  sense  differently  from  the 
poets;  but  inasmuch  as  it  is  my  intention  to  follow  the 
method  of  the  poets,  I  shall  take  the  allegorical  sense  as 
the  poets  use  it."  In  poetry,  then,  the  literal  sense  may 
be,  and  often  is,  pure  fiction;  whereas  the  allegorical 
meaning,  which  is  the  essential  one,  must  be  true.  So 
it  is  also,  centuries  later,  in  the  prose  of  Bunyan's  Pil- 
grim's Progress.  So,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  Ovid's  poem  of 
the  Metamorphoses  was  interpreted. 

In  the  literature  of  our  day,  allegory  has  gone  out  of 
style.  Symbolism  still  lingers  in  sculpture,  especially  in 
cemeteries  and  in  public  monuments;  it  is  frequent  in 
cartoons  and  posters:  in  painting  it  has  an  occasional 
belated  devotee.  It  remains,  of  course,  in  religious 
service  and,  to  a  considerable  extent,  in  ecclesiastical 
architecture;  and  it  has  recently  taken  a  new  lease  of 
life  in  the  pageant  and  the  morality  play.  In  other 
forms  of  writing,  however,  if  attempted  on  any  but  the 
smallest  scale,  it  usually  fails  to  please;  and  few  authors 
care  to  make  the  trial.  Furthermore,  we  think  of  it  as 
something  extremely  artificial,  a  mere  technical  device. 
It  was  not  thus  in  Dante's  time.  Then  allegory  ap- 
peared spontaneous,  because  symbolism  was  a  funda- 
mental mode  of  thought,  forming  the  basis  of  man's 


70  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

conception  of  the  world.  The  universe  was  full  of  mystic 
correspondences,  which  disclosed  themselves  in  astron- 
omy, in  zoology,  in  history,  in  names  and  numbers. 

Of  numbers  and  names  we  shall  have  occasion  to  dis- 
course in  treating  of  Beatrice.  For  a  specimen  of  alle- 
gorical interpretation  of  secular  history,  we  may  turn 
to  another  passage  of  Dante's  Banquet,  where  the  author 
reveals  the  inner  significance  of  the  life  of  Martia,  wife 
of  Cato.  "  By  which  Martia,"  says  Dante,  "  is  meant 
the  noble  Soul;  and  we  may  thus  reduce  the  figure  to 
truth.  Martia  was  a  maiden,  and  in  that  state  signifies 
Adolescence;  then  she  came  to  Cato,  and  in  that  state 
signifies  Youth.  At  that  time  she  bore  children,  by 
whom  are  signified  the  virtues  which  I  have  already 
declared  to  befit  the  young.  And  she  parted  from  Cato 
and  wedded  Hortensius,  whereby  is  meant  that  Youth 
departed  and  Maturity  came.  She  bore  children  also 
unto  him;  by  whom  are  signified  the  virtues  which  I 
have  already  declared  to  suit  Maturity.  Hortensius 
died,  whereby  is  meant  the  end  of  Maturity;  and 
Martia  having  become  a  widow  (by  which  widowhood  is 
signified  Age)  went  back  at  the  beginning  of  her  widow- 
hood to  Cato,  whereby  is  meant  that  the  noble  Soul  at 
the  beginning  of  old  age  returns  to  God.  .  .  .  And 
Martia  saith :  '  Two  reasons  move  me  ....  One  is  that 
after  me  it  may  be  said  that  I  died  the  wife  of  Cato. 
The  other  is  that  after  me  it  may  be  said  that  thou  didst 
not  drive  me  forth,  but  didst  give  me  in  marriage 


PIETRA  71 

kindly/  By  these  two  reasons  the  noble  Soul  is  moved: 
it  wishes  to  depart  from  this  life  as  the  bride  of  God,  and 
it  wishes  to  show  that  God  was  pleased  at  its  creation. 
0  ill-starred  and  ill-born  creatures,  who  wish  rather  to 
depart  from  this  life  under  the  name  of  Hortensius  than 
under  that  of  Cato!  " 

Still  another  part  of  the  Banquet  offers  an  illustration 
of  astronomical  symbolism.  '*  We  must,"  affirms  the 
author,  "  take  into  consideration  a  comparison  which 
exists  between  the  order  of  the  heavens  and  that  of  the 
sciences.  Now,  as  has  been  told  above,  the  seven  skies 
nearest  to  us  are  those  of  the  planets;  then  there  are  two 
movable  heavens  above  these  and  one  quiet  heaven 
above  all.  To  the  first  seven  correspond  the  seven 
sciences  of  the  Trivium  and  of  the  Quadrivium;  to  wit, 
Grammar,  Dialectics,  Rhetoric,  Arithmetic,  Music, 
Geometry,  and  Astrology.  To  the  eighth  sphere,  namely 
the  starry  one,  correspond  Natural  Science,  which  is 
called  Physics,  and  the  primal  science,  which  is  called 
Metaphysics;  to  the  ninth  corresponds  Moral  Science; 
and  to  the  still  heaven  corresponds  Divine  Science, 
which  is  known  as  Theology.  And  the  reason  why  this 
is  so  must  be  briefly  looked  into.  I  say  that  the  heaven 
of  the  Moon  is  likened  to  Grammar,  because  it  is  com- 
parable to  it.  For,  if  we  rightly  look  at  the  Moon,  we  see 
that  two  things  are  peculiar  to  it,  not  being  seen  in  the 
other  stars :  one  is  the  shade  that  is  in  it,  which  is  nothing 
but  rarity  in  its  body,  which  rarity  cannot  stop  and 


72  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

refract  the  sun's  rays  as  the  other  parts  do;  the  other 
is  the  variation  of  its  luminousness,  for  now  it  shines  on 
one  side,  now  on  the  other,  according  as  the  Sun  faces 
it.  And  these  same  two  properties  hath  Grammar;  for, 
because  of  its  immensity,  the  rays  of  reason  are  not 
stopped  by  it  altogether,  especially  in  the  matter  of 
words;  and  it  shines  now  here,  now  there,  in  so  far  as 
certain  words,  certain  declensions,  certain  constructions 
are  in  use,  which  formerly  did  not  exist,  and  many  once 
existed  which  shall  exist  again,  as  Horace  saith  at  the 
beginning  of  his  Poetics,  when  he  saith:  '  Many  words 
shall  be  born  again,  which  once  have  fallen.'  "  And  so 
on,  at  some  length,  for  the  other  heavens  and  the  other 
sciences. 

With  nature  and  life  so  full  of  mysterious  relations, 
it  was  not  strange  that  art  should  be  filled  with  symbols; 
and  so  it  came  to  be.  Allegorical  creation,  in  the  main, 
followed  allegorical  interpretation,  and  that  (as  far 
as  literature  is  concerned)  went  back  to  the  ancient 
Greeks  and  Hebrews,  the  former  explaining  the  myths 
of  Homer,  the  latter  expounding  their  own  religious  writ- 
ings. Christian  theology,  under  both  Greek  and  Jewish 
influence,  developed  a  threefold,  then  a  fourfold  system 
of  Biblical  exegesis,  the  most  important  feature  of  which 
was  the  elaborate  exposition  of  the  Old  Testament  as  a 
detailed  allegorical  prophecy  of  the  New.  That  was  not 
all.  Imitating  the  later  Greek  rationalization  of  Homeric 
mythology,  Latin  commentators  applied  a  similar 


PIETRA  73 

method  to  Virgil  and  Ovid,  who  came  in  the  Middle 
Ages  to  be  regarded  as  the  great  pagan  masters  of  al- 
legory. Naturally  enough,  under  such  inspiration  a 
symbolic  style  of  writing  was  adopted,  first  in  religious 
compositions,  later  in  secular  literature.  In  the  course 
of  the  thirteenth  century  poetic  allegory  was  given  an 
enormous  vogue  by  the  unrivaled  success  of  the  Old 
French  Romance  of  the  Rose,  which  was  translated  into 
various  languages.  An  English  version  of  it  was  made 
by  Chaucer.  An  extremely  clever  Italian  adaptation, 
called  //  Fiore,  in  the  form  of  a  sonnet  sequence,  is  the 
work  of  a  certain  Durante,  whom  a  few  scholars  would 
identify  with  Dante  Alighieri. 

Incontestably,  Dante  was  the  greatest  of  all  creators 
of  allegory.  Next  to  him  we  may,  perhaps,  put  John 
Bunyan.  When  we  compare  attentively  the  work  of 
these  two  masters,  we  perceive  that  their  habitual 
methods  are  diverse:  for  Bunyan  starts  with  a  general 
concept,  which  he  invests  with  a  bodily  form  and  an 
obviously  descriptive  name,  such  as  Prudence  or  Giant 
Despair;  whereas  Dante  selects  a  notable  example  of 
the  quality  he  wishes  to  symbolize,  and  makes  that 
individual  stand  for  the  quality  itself.  In  other  words, 
Bunyan  proceeds  from  the  abstract  to  the  concrete, 
Dante  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract.  Although  the 
former  mode  is  the  commoner  among  allegorists,  the 
latter  is  more  capable  of  lending  reality  to  the  narration. 
We  have  seen  how,  to  personify  reason,  Dante  uses  the 


74  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

familiar  figure  of  Virgil,  whom  every  schoolboy  knew, 
and  whom  medieval  scholarship  looked  upon  as  the 
wisest  man  among  the  ancients.  As  a  symbol  of  revela- 
tion, he  employs  the  character  of  Beatrice,  long  con- 
ceived and  celebrated  by  him  as  a  miracle  on  earth,  a 
heavenly  creature,  a  representative  of  the  divine  intel- 
ligence. Cato,  who  slew  himself  rather  than  submit  to 
the  usurping  Caesar,  is  transformed  into  the  type  of  free 
will.  Intuition,  or  direct  perception  of  God,  is  figured 
by  St.  Bernard,  the  famous  mystic,  who  discoursed  on 
the  joys  of  contemplation.  Minos,  pagan  judge  of  the 
lower  world,  apparently  embodies  the  guilty  conscience. 
Despair  takes  corporeal  form  in  Medusa.  The  ill- 
begotten  Minotaur,  part  man  and  part  bull,  serves  as 
the  epitome  of  bestial  violence.  Cerberus,  with  his  three 
mouths,  becomes  a  symbol  of  gluttony.  By  pursuing 
this  course,  Dante  is  able  to  take  advantage  of  all  our 
previous  associations  with  the  personages  he  presents, 
and  thus  to  abridge  description  while  gaining  in  distinct- 
ness and  vitality.  We  must  remember  what  his  habit  is, 
when  trying  to  work  out  some  problems  which  he  has 
left  us  without  a  visible  clue. 

In  the  foregoing  remarks,  the  words  allegory  and  sym- 
bol have  occurred  repeatedly  side  by  side.  In  fact, 
symbolism  and  allegory  are  often  regarded  as  the  same 
thing;  or,  at  least,  the  two  terms  are  frequently  used 
indiscriminately.  Nevertheless,  one  vaguely  feels  a 
shade  of  diversity;  and  reflection  convinces  us  that, 


PIETRA  75 

even  if  no  tangible  distinction  exists,  it  would  be  con- 
venient to  make  one.  How  shall  the  two  words,  or  the 
two  things,  be  differentiated  ?  Allegory  is  always  sym- 
bolical ;  but  it  is  possible  to  use  symbols  —  as  one  does, 
for  instance,  in  a  metaphor  —  without  creating  an 
allegory.  My  colleague,  Professor  Neilson,  has  solved 
the  difficulty  by  means  of  an  ingenious  definition: 
allegory,  according  to  him,  is  "  sustained  "  or  "  organ- 
ized "  or  "  patterned  "  symbolism:  it  is  the  consecutive, 
systematic  use  of  fixed  symbols.  The  more  we  consider 
this  definition,  the  more  serviceable  and  satisfactory  we 
find  it.  Let  us  understand  symbolism,  then,  as  the 
broader  term,  which  includes  allegory  on  the  one  hand, 
and,  on  the  other,  the  employment  of  incidental  figures 
of  speech  or  changing  symbols.  Holding  to  this  distinc- 
tion, we  shall  call,  for  example,  Maeterlinck's  Pelleas  et 
Melisande  a  piece  of  symbolistic  art,  while  the  Divina 
Commedia  shall  be  accepted  as  a  true  allegory. 

Among  Dante's  lyric  poems  we  shall  perhaps  find 
occasion  to  apply  this  principle  of  differentiation. 
Many  of  these,  to  be  sure,  are  neither  allegorical  nor 
symbolical  —  or  they  are  symbolical  only  in  a  moderate 
use  of  metaphor  and  in  their  frequent  personification  of 
Love:  such  are  a  couple  of  moral  disquisitions  in  rime, 
certain  verses  addressed  to  male  friends,  a  few  elegies, 
and  some  early  sonnets  and  ballads  in  praise  of  young 
Beatrice  and  other  maidens.  There  are,  however,  two 
groups  of  lyrics  which  invite  a  "  mystical  "  interpreta- 


76  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

tion:  the  first  consists  of  poems  written  apparently  for 
a  "  gentle  lady,"  but  truly,  as  the  author  assures  us  in 
his  Banquet,  composed  in  honor  of  philosophy;  the 
second  comprises  those  having  to  do  with  a  youthful 
but  unresponsive  person  whom  the  poet  calls  Pietra,  or 
"  Stone,"  to  indicate  her  hardness.  The  former  group, 
which  I  shall  discuss  later,  is,  I  think,  in  the  main  really 
allegorical;  by  which  I  mean  that  the  odes  which  com- 
pose it,  taken  together,  show  a  development  of  two  or 
three  constant  symbols,  Love  representing  study  and 
the  beloved  standing  for  philosophy. 

The  second  group,  made  up  of  a  few  superbly  artistic 
lyrics,  most  of  them  full  of  passion  and  of  mystery,  is 
excessively  hard  to  interpret.  In  the  first  place,  we  do 
not  know  exactly  how  many  pieces  should  be  included 
in  it.  Let  us  look  first  at  those  which  are  sure.  For  two 
poems,  which  contain  at  fixed  places  in  every  stanza  the 
word  pietra,  there  is  no  question :  these  form  the  nucleus 
of  the  series,  and  furnish  a  basis  of  classification.  They 
are  Dante's  first  and  second  sestine,  Al  poco  giorno  ed  al 
gran  cerchio  d'  ombra  and  Amor  tu  vedi  ben  che  questa 
donna.  To  these  may  be  confidently  added  a  third,  the 
canzone,  lo  son  venuto  al  punto  della  rota,  which  has  the 
word  pietra  in  rime  with  itself  at  the  end  of  the  first 
strophe.  This  canzone,  like  the  first  sestina  and  prob- 
ably the  second,  draws  its  inspiration  from  the  winter 
season,  and  suggests  the  contrast  between  the  outer 
cold  and  the  fire  of  passion  within. 


PIETRA  77 

This  theme,  which  is  much  more  fully  developed  in 
the  canzone  than  in  either  sestina,  was  not  entirely  new. 
It  had  been  touched  upon  by  at  least  four  Provengal 
troubadours;  and  among  them  is  the  writer  whom 
Dante  esteemed  highest  of  all  poets  in  the  vulgar  tongue, 
Arnaut  Daniel,  the  inventor  of  the  sestina.  Concerning 
Arnaut,  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Guido  Guinizelli, 
whom  he  meets  in  Purgatory,  these  words:  "  O  brother, 
the  spirit  I  am  pointing  out  to  thee  with  my  finger  was  a 
better  forger  than  I  of  the  mother  speech.  Everything 
he  surpassed  —  verses  of  love  and  prose  of  romances ; 
so  let  fools  chatter,  who  think  the  bard  of  Limousin 
[Giraut  de  Bornelh]  excels  him.  To  report  rather  than 
to  truth  they  turn  their  faces,  and  thus  fix  their  opinion 
before  they  listen  to  art  or  to  reason."  This  Arnaut, 
who  is  cited  four  times  by  Dante  in  his  treatise  on  com- 
position in  the  vernacular,  offers  repeated  examples  of 
the  contrast  of  love  and  winter;  but  never  does  he  in  the 
least  approach  the  masterly  treatment  exhibited  in  the 
work  of  his  admirer. 

The  second  sestina,  Amor  tu  vedi  ben  che  questa  donna, 
though  undoubtedly  a  "  Pietra  "  poem,  is  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  other  two.  Made  up  of  miscellaneous 
amatory  conceits,  it  seems  more  like  a  clever  metrical 
exercise  than  the  working  out  of  an  idea.  Its  name, 
though  indicative  enough  of  complexity,  is  misleading: 
for  while  the  song  always  goes  under  the  title  of  "  ses- 
tina "  or  "  double  sestina,"  it  is  not  really  a  sestina  at  all, 


78  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

but  rather  an  example  of  the  type  known  in  Provence 
as  a  dictatz  capcaudatz,  or  "  head-tailed  composition," 
so  called  because  the  tail  of  one  stanza  becomes  the 
head  of  the  next.  With  the  sestina,  however,  Dante's 
poem  has  in  common  the  total  absence  of  rimes  and  the 
repetition  of  end-words  according  to  a  fixed  and  intri- 
cate pattern.  Each  stanza  consists  of  twelve  lines;  and 
in  these  twelve  lines,  in  all  five  stanzas  and  the  envoy, 
there  are  only  five  end-words,  three  of  which  are  re- 
peated within  the  strophe,  one  of  them  (a  different  one 
for  each  strophe)  occurring  in  it  six  times.  As  we  pass 
from  stanza  to  stanza,  the  last  end-word  of  the  preced- 
ing strophe  becomes  the  first  of  the  next  strophe,  and 
all  the  others  are  pushed  down  one  place.  It  is  obvious 
that,  with  such  an  elaborate  medium  as  this,  even 
Dante's  genius  could  say  but  little.  Although  all  three 
of  the  Pietra  poems  I  have  mentioned  are  constructed 
on  uncommonly  difficult  plans,  and  show  the  highest 
degree  of  technical  skill,  this  composition,  which  has 
the  hardest  scheme  of  all,  is  the  only  one  in  which  the 
difficulty  is  obvious  to  the  reader.  For  that  reason,  no 
doubt,  the  author's  ingenuity  is  more  immediately 
manifest.  The  poem  runs  something  like  this: 

I 

O  Love,  thou  plainly  canst  perceive,  this  queen 
Cares  nothing  for  thy  power  at  any  time  — 

Thy  power,  which  other  fair  ones  call  their  queen! 
And  when  this  lady  saw  she  was  my  queen, 


PIETRA  79 

Beholding  in  my  face  thine  amorous  light, 
She  made  herself  of  cruelty  the  queen. 
No  longer  doth  her  heart  befit  a  queen, 

But  some  wild  beast,  whose  heart  to  love  is  cold; 

For  always,  be  the  season  hot  or  cold, 
She  governs  me  as  if  she  were  a  queen 

Not  flesh  and  blood,  but  carved  in  beauteous  stone 

By  one  whose  hand  is  best  at  carving  stone. 

II 

And  I,  in  faith  to  thee  more  firm  than  stone 
For  beauty's  sake  (the  beauty  of  a  queen), 

Conceal  the  wound  inflicted  by  a  stone 

With  which  thou  struckest  me,  as  't  were  a  stone 
Which  had  thy  way  encumbered  many  a  time. 

The  blow  hath  reached  my  heart,  which  now  is  stone; 

And  ne'er  hath  mortal  found  a  magic  stone 
Which  from  the  solar  power  or  solar  light 
Had  got  such  wondrous  property  or  light 

That  it  could  aught  avail  against  this  stone 
Which  bringeth  me,  with  its  inhuman  cold, 
To  such  a  pass  that  death  will  turn  me  cold. 

Ill 

Thou  knowest,  Lord,  that  in  the  freezing  cold 
The  hardening  water  turns  to  crystal  stone 

Yonder  to  northward,  where  the  world  is  cold, 

And  atmosphere  becomes  a  thing  of  cold 
And  so  descends  that  water  rules  as  queen 

(In  yonder  land),  congealing  with  the  cold. 

E'en  thus,  confronted  with  that  visage  cold, 


80  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

My  blood  is  icy  frozen  all  the  time. 
That  thought  which  shortens  most  my  earthly  time 
Is  turned  within  my  eyes  to  humor  cold, 

And  there  by  beauty's  ray  is  brought  to  light, 
Where  entered  first  that  beauty's  cruel  light. 

IV 

Of  every  charm  there  shines  in  her  the  light; 
Yet  every  cruelty  doth  send  its  cold 

Into  her  heart,  which  never  knew  thy  light. 
Her  beauty,  when  I  see  her,  so  doth  light 
Mine  eyes  that  I  behold  her  in  a  stone, 
In  everything  on  which  I  turn  my  light. 
There  cometh  from  her  eyes  so  fair  a  light 

That  I  can  look  upon  no  other  queen. 

Ah !  would  that  she  might  be  a  clement  queen 
To  me,  who  pray,  in  darkness  and  in  light, 

For  time  to  do  her  service  —  place  and  time ! 

For  that  alone  would  I  live  out  my  time. 


Therefore,  O  Power,  which  older  art  than  time, 
Older  than  motion,  older  eke  than  light, 
O  pity  me,  who  spend  so  sad  a  time! 
Now  penetrate  her  heart  (indeed  't  is  time) 
And  banish  thence  the  homicidal  cold 

Which  cutteth  short  my  life's  allotted  time. 
For  if,  in  such  a  state,  thy  winter  time 
Shall  overtake  me,  then  my  pretty  Stone 
Shall  see  me  stretcht  within  a  little  stone, 


PIETRA  81 

Never  to  rise  until  the  end  of  time. 

Then  I  shall  see  if  earth  has  had  a  queen 
As  beautiful  as  this  unfeeling  queen. 

Envoy 

O  Song,  I  carry  in  my  mind  a  queen 
So  beautiful,  for  all  she  be  of  stone, 

She  gives  me  courage,  tho'  mankind  be  cold, 
To  dare  to  write,  despite  the  season's  cold, 

A  thing  so  strange  that  (by  thy  constant  light!) 

It  never  was  conceived  at  any  time. 

Both  this  poem  and  the  first  sestina,  Al  poco  giorno  ed 
al  gran  cerchio  d'  ombra,  are  cited  by  Dante  as  his  own 
in  his  treatise  De  Vulgari  Eloquentia.  In  the  first  sestina 
we  find  a  form  strangely  artificial  and  intricate,  to  be 
sure,  but  so  masterfully  handled  that  the  author's  effort 
is  almost  concealed.  Al  poco  giorno  is  a  real  sestina,  fol- 
lowing the  type  invented,  as  I  have  said,  by  Arnaut 
Daniel,  and  by  him  used  several  times.  A  few  other 
troubadours  tried  their  hand  at  it,  among  them  one  of 
Italian  birth.  Then  Dante  took  it  up,  and  in  this  poem 
carried  it  to  its  highest  perfection.  Two  other  sestine, 
manifest  imitations  of  this  one,  are  sometimes  printed 
under  Dante's  name,  though  not  ascribed  to  him  in  any 
manuscript,  and  certainly  not  by  him.  As  far  as  we 
know,  Al  poco  giorno  is  the  only  genuine  sestina  that 
Dante  wrote.  Several  excellent  sestine  were  composed 
by  Petrarch,  who  in  one  of  them  contrasted  love  and 


82  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

snow.  Since  his  day,  the  form  has  been  occasionally  but 
sparingly  attempted. 

The  sestina  has  six  stanzas,  each  of  six  lines,  and  a 
three-line  envoy.  For  the  six  lines  there  are  six  end- 
words,  which  are  repeated  from  strophe  to  strophe  in  an 
order  that  changes  according  to  a  set  formula.  If  we 
represent  the  arrangement,  in  a  given  stanza,  as  123456, 
the  sequence  in  the  next  stanza  will  be  615243.  The 
number  of  words  being  equal  to  the  number  of  lines, 
there  is  no  repetition  within  the  strophe.  All  six  words 
are  incorporated  into  the  three  lines  of  the  envoy.  The 
music,  we  are  told,  consists  of  a  continuous  air  running 
through  the  stanza,  without  the  repetitions  customary 
in  the  strophe  of  the  canzone,  or  ode.  Our  poem  starts 
out  with  a  picture  of  the  winter  solstice,  the  time  of 
short  days  and  long  nights.  The  opening  words, 

To  dwindling  day  and  vast  encircling  shade 
I  now  have  come, 

recall  a  similar  beginning  by  Peire  d'  Alvernhe, 
Anigh  short  days  and  evenings  long, 

and,  still  more,  a  wintry  introduction  by  another  Pro- 
vengal  poet,  Gavaudan: 

The  longest  night  and  smallest  day 
Of  all  the  year,  we  now  have  reacht. 

Here  is  a  translation  of  Dante's  sestina.    The  word 
donna,  which  in  my  version  of  the  preceding  poem  I 


PIETRA  83 

rendered  by  "  queen,"  I  have  here  turned  into  "  lass," 
donna  being  a  term  of  various  meanings  —  "  possessor," 
"  mistress,"  "  lady,"  and  "  woman." 

I 

To  dwindling  day  and  vast  encircling  shade 
I  now  have  come,  alas!  and  whitening  hills, 
When  color  hath  forsook  the  meadow  leaves; 
And  yet  my  longing  loseth  not  its  green, 
So  rooted  is  it  in  the  stubborn  stone 
Which  sentient  is  and  speechful  as  a  lass. 

II 

Forever  chilly  stands  this  curious  lass, 
As  snow  unchanging  bideth  in  the  shade; 
She  stirs  no  more  than  everlasting  stone, 
When  balmy  spring  returns  and  heats  the  hills 
And  makes  them  change  their  hue  from  white  to  green, 
Decking  them  o'er  with  little  flowers  and  leaves. 

in 

When  that  her  head  is  garlanded  with  leaves, 
One  cannot  think  of  any  other  lass; 
For  golden  curls  so  mingle  with  the  green 
That  Love  is  lured  to  nestle  in  the  shade. 
'T  is  Love  that  locks  me  here  'mid  little  hills 
Firmer  by  far  than  mortar  locketh  stone. 

IV 

Her  charms  more  potent  are  than  magic  stone; 
She  deals  a  wound  incurable  by  leaves. 
Lo!  I  have  fled  thro'  plains  and  over  hills, 


84  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Attempting  to  escape  from  such  a  lass; 

But  still  her  light  is  never  screened  with  shade 

By  hillock  cast,  or  wall,  or  foliage  green. 

V 

I  once  beheld  this  damsel  garbed  in  green, 
So  fair,  she  would  have  kindled  in  a  stone 
The  love  I  bear  unto  her  very  shade. 
Ah!  were  I  with  her  now  'mid  grassy  leaves, 
And  would  that  she  were  fond  as  any  lass, 
Within  a  field  enclosed  by  lofty  hills! 

VI 

But  sooner  shall  the  brooks  run  up  the  hills 
Than  ever  vernal  wood  so  moist  and  green 
Shall  burn  (as  oft  befalls  a  pretty  lass) 
For  me,  who  willingly  would  sleep  in  stone 
For  all  my  days,  and  feed  upon  the  leaves, 
Merely  to  see  the  ground  her  garments  shade. 

Envoy 

Whene'er  the  hills  project  their  blackest  shade, 
Beneath  a  hopeful  green  the  little  lass 
Covers  it  o'er,  as  stone  is  hid  by  leaves. 

The  third  poem  that  indisputably  belongs  to  the  set  is 
the  canzone,  lo  son  venuto  al  punto  delta  rota,  in  which 
the  last  two  lines  of  the  first  stanza  end  in  pietra.  In 
every  strophe  of  this  ode  the  last  verse  closes  with  the 
same  word  as  the  next-to-last;  but  this  word,  though 
identical  in  form,  is  in  each  case  slightly  differentiated 


PIETRA  85 

in  sense.  Otherwise  the  stanzas  have  a  normal  rime- 
scheme  —  abc  abc  c  deedff.  One  can  hardly  discuss  the 
Pietra  poems  without  giving  special  attention  to  their 
structure,  because  in  them  technical  artistry  has  so 
conspicuous  a  share.  In  this  ode,  the  first  nine  lines  of 
each  strophe  contain  a  beautiful  little  sketch  of  some 
aspect  of  wintertime:  the  opening  stanza  pictures  the 
winter  stars;  the  second  describes  the  clouds,  snow,  and 
rain;  the  third  tells  of  birds  and  beasts  in  the  cold  sea- 
son, the  fourth  discourses  of  vegetable  life;  the  fifth,  of 
the  frozen  soil.  Each  of  these  nine-line  sketches  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  contrasting  four-line  glimpse  into  the  poet's 
heart,  unchanging  amid  the  changes  of  the  elements; 
and  this  theme  receives  its  final  development  in  the 
envoy.  Petrarch  has  one  canzone,  Ne  la  stagion  che  il  del 
rapido  inchina,  built  on  a  similar  plan,  except  that  his 
little  pictures  represent,  not  winter,  but  evening,  and 
the  contrast  is  between  dying  day  and  undying  love. 
In  the  beginning  of  Dante's  ode,  as  in  that  of  his  first 
sestina,  the  winter  solstice  is  indicated :  the  time  of  year 
when  the  setting  sun,  in  Capricorn,  is  face  to  face  with 
the  constellation  of  Gemini,  rising  on  the  eastern  hori- 
zon; when  Venus,  at  her  apogee,  is  in  opposition  with 
the  earth  and  therefore  hidden  by  the  sun;  when  Saturn, 
the  chilly  planet,  describing  its  broadest  revolution, 
rises  highest  overhead  —  a  position  in  which  any  one  of 
the  seven  planets  casts  but  little  shadow,  because  its 
light  descends  almost  vertically. 


86  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 


Now  have  I  reacht  that  point  upon  the  wheel 
When  round  horizon,  which  the  sun  doth  hide, 

A  Geminated  heaven  doth  unfold. 
The  amorous  star  her  light  cannot  reveal; 
For  glaring  rays  her  orbit  so  bestride, 
She  seems  before  her  face  a  veil  to  hold. 
The  distant  star  that  fortifies  the  cold 
Shines  fully  forth  on  that  extended  bow 
Which  lets  the  seven  little  shadow  cast.  — 
Yet  memory  clutcheth  fast 
Each  single  thought  of  love  that  laid  me  low  — 
My  cruel  memory,  harder  far  than  stone 
In  keeping  fixt  the  effigy  of  Stone. 

II 

There  rises  up  from  Ethiopia's  sand 

A  foreign  wind,  which  makes  the  air  to  weep, 

Because  the  sun  is  yonder  shining  bright. 
Crossing  the  sea,  it  brings  a  misty  band 

Of  clouds  so  thick,  if  naught  the  sky  doth  sweep, 
They  fill  this  hemisphere  and  close  it  tight; 
And  then  they  melt,  and  fall  in  flakelets  white 
Of  frozen  snow,  or  else  in  hateful  rain, 

Whereby  the  saddened  air  is  moved  to  tears.  — 
And  Love,  who  greatly  fears 
The  rising  wind,  takes  up  his  nets  again; 

But  me  he  quits  not,  such  a  beauteous  queen 
Was  given  me  to  be  my  cruel  queen. 


PIETRA  87 

III 

Now  every  bird  that  followeth  the  heat 

Is  fled  from  Europe's  shores,  which  never  lack 
The  seven  chilly  stars  that  make  the  Wain. 
All  other  birds  have  stilled  their  voices  sweet, 
To  sing  no  more  until  the  green  come  back, 
Unless  it  be  to  give  a  cry  of  pain. 
And  all  those  creatures  which  cannot  refrain 
From  joy  in  summer,  now  from  love  are  free, 
Because  the  icy  cold  their  heart  has  chilled.  — 
But  mine  with  love  is  filled; 
For  tender  thoughts  are  not  inspired  in  me, 
Nor  taken  from  me,  by  the  turn  of  years, 
But  by  a  queen  who  knows  not  many  years. 

IV 

The  leaves  have  past  their  time  and  had  their  day, 
Which  first  to  life  the  breath  of  spring  did  stir, 

To  deck  the  world;  no  living  grass  is  seen, 
And  every  verdant  twig  is  hid  away, 
Except  on  pine,  on  bay,  or  else  on  fir, 

Or  on  some  other  tree  that  keeps  its  green. 
The  season  is  so  savage  and  so  keen, 
The  little  flowers  on  the  bank  it  dulls, 

Which  frost  will  not  endure  the  earth  above.  — 
And  yet  unfeeling  Love 
His  thorn  from  out  my  bosom  never  pulls: 

Wherefore  am  I  condemned  to  wear  it  ever 
While  I  shall  live,  tho'  I  should  live  forever. 


88  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 


The  springs  pour  out  their  waters  mistily, 
Pusht  forth  by  vapors  hidden  down  below, 

Which  mother  earth's  abysses  upward  thrust. 
The  path,  on  pleasant  days  so  sweet  to  me, 
Is  now  a  running  stream,  and  long  shall  flow; 
For  while  the  winter  warreth,  flow  it  must. 
Enamel-like  the  ground  puts  on  a  crust; 
And  stagnant  water  quickly  turns  to  glass, 
Lockt  out  of  doors  by  petrifying  frost.  — 
Yet  I,  so  battle-tost, 
Have  not  gone  back  a  single  step,  alas! 
Nor  will  I  go!  If  martyrdom  is  joy, 
Then  death  must  be  the  best  that  men  enjoy. 

Envoy 

O  Song,  what  shall  become  of  me  when  spring 

Shall  come  renewed  and  sweet,  when  Love  shall  fall 

Like  rain  from  all  the  skies  to  hearts  untold, 

If  now,  despite  the  cold, 
Love  dwells  in  me,  and  nowhere  else  at  all  ? 

I  know  my  fate:  to  be  a  man  of  rock, 

If  Little  Maid  shall  have  for  heart  a  rock. 

Here,  then,  we  have  a  group  of  three  poems,  all  play- 
ing on  the  word  pietra,  all  displaying  the  most  extraor- 
dinary artistic  invention  and  mastery  of  technique, 
one  of  them  ingenious  rather  than  lovely,  the  other  two 
strangely  and  hauntingly  beautiful.  What  would  we 


PIETRA  89 

not  give  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  these  verses,  so 
passionate  and  yet  so  discreet !  Like  Violet  and  Matilda, 
this  Little  Maid  is  a  figure  so  elusive  that  at  times  we 
wonder  whether  she  ever  was  real.  Who  she  was,  and 
what  she  was  to  Dante,  no  one,  perhaps,  save  the  poet 
himself,  has  ever  known.  And  yet  her  charm  is  such 
that  we  perpetually  and  gladly  allow  ourselves  to  be 
lured  by  hopes  manifestly  foredoomed. 

Ere  we  go  further  in  pursuit  of  this  Will  o'  the  Wisp, 
let  us  see  whether  other  poems  can  be  added  to  the 
series,  and  whether  any  of  these  —  if  such  be  found  - 
can  afford  us  an  additional  clue.  Among  Dante's  son- 
nets there  is  one,  E'  non  e  legno  di  si  forti  nocchi,  which 
once  has  in  the  rime  the  word  pietra,  used  not  as  an 
epithet  to  designate  the  heartless  lady,  but  as  a  means 
of  describing  her  power.  Its  tone  is  bitter;  the  person 
wooed  is  very  young :  shall  we  include  it  in  the  group  ? 

The  knottiest  wood  that  hath  existed  yet, 
The  hardest,  most  impenetrable  stone, 
This  cruel  maid,  who  seeks  to  lay  me  prone, 

With  one  sweet  look,  aflame  with  love  would  set. 

When  turns  to  gaze  a  man  that  she  hath  met, 
Unless  he  flee,  she  maketh  him  atone 
And  die  of  broken  heart;  no  grace  is  shown, 

No  earnest  ever  rendered  of  her  debt. 

Why  is  it,  God  such  sovereignty  grants 
To  such  a  young,  unfeeling  lady's  eyes, 
Who  life  to  every  faithful  swain  denies  ? 


90  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

So  deaf  to  pity,  when  a  lover  dies, 
She  turns  away  and  looks  at  him  askance, 
And  even  hides  her  beauties  from  his  glance. 

This  is  of  much  the  same  tenor  as  the  two  sestine  —  pas- 
sion on  the  one  side,  youthful  hardness  on  the  other.  It 
is  not  in  the  least  like  the  poems  to  Beatrice  or  those  to 
the  persons  I  have  called  Matilda  and  Violet.  One 
might  readily  enough  decide  to  assign  it  to  the  Pietra 
series,  were  it  not  still  more  akin  to  another  set,  which 
we  have  not  yet  considered,  a  group  of  lyrics  devoted  to 
Lady  Philosophy.  When  we  come  to  examine  these,  we 
shall  find  in  them,  as  in  the  sonnet,  the  idea  that  the 
lady's  power  comes  from  on  high,  the  extension  of  her 
cruelty  to  mankind  in  general,  and  her  desire  to  hide  her 
beauty  from  view.  The  extreme  youth  of  the  lady  is 
found  in  them  also.  I  am  therefore  inclined,  despite  the 
word  "  stone,"  to  put  this  sonnet  into  the  class  of  the 
philosophical  poems,  rather  than  into  the  Pietra 
category. 

One  might  properly,  it  seems  to  me,  make  the  same 
disposal  of  another  sonnet,  probably  by  Dante,  which 
shows  likeness  both  to  the  Pietra  and  to  the  Philosophy 
type,  but  somewhat  more  to  the  latter. 

I  curse  the  day  when  first  I  saw  a  while 

The  light  which  in  your  treacherous  eyes  you  bore; 

The  hour  when  you  descended,  full  of  guile, 
To  draw  my  soul  from  out  my  bosom's  core. 

Also  I  curse  the  loved  and  loving  file, 


PIETRA  91 

The  polisher  of  word  and  metaphor, 
Which  I  have  wrought  for  you  in  riming  style, 

That  you  may  honored  be  forevermore. 
Also  I  curse  my  memory  obstinate, 

Which  firmly  holds  whate'er  shall  fatal  be  — 
Namely,  your  figure  fair  and  obdurate, 
Because  of  which  is  Love  exposed  to  hate, 

And  everybody  laughs  at  him  and  me, 
Who  think  Fortuna's  wheel  to  confiscate. 

While  the  "  polishing  of  word  and  metaphor  "  would 
appear  especially  to  befit  the  Pietra  songs,  which  are  the 
most  elaborate  of  Dante's  lyrics,  the  phrase  suits  well 
enough  the  poems  dealing  with  Lady  Philosophy;  for 
these,  too,  are  full  of  conscious  artistry.  To  Lady  Phi- 
losophy, rather  than  to  Pietra,  belongs  the  imputation 
of  deceitful  intention,  as  well  as  the  vague  indication  of 
universal  cruelty.  The  last  two  lines,  also, 

And  everybody  laughs  at  him  and  me, 
Who  think  Fortuna's  wheel  to  confiscate, 

with  their  suggestion  of  mad  aspiration  and  public  dis- 
comfiture, point  to  the  philosophical  series.  The  sonnet 
Deh!  piangi  meco,  tu  dogliosa  pietra,  with  its  apparent 
political  allegory,  would  merit  a  conspicuous  place,  were 
it  really  Dante's;  but  there  seems  to  be  no  sufficient 
reason  for  accepting  it. 

We  come  now  to  an  ode,  the  most  passionate  and  the 
most  extravagant  of  all  Dante's  poems,  Cosl  nel  mio 


92  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

parlar  voglio  esser  aspro,  which,  containing  as  it  does  the 
epithet  pietra  applied  to  the  lady,  must  in  all  probability 
be  considered  as  a  member  of  our  group.  If  so,  it  would 
seem  to  mark  the  frenzied  climax  of  the  lover's  infatua- 
tion. The  poem  begins  with  an  avowal  of  the  author's 
purpose  to  discard  the  "  sweet  style  "  which  becomes 
amatory  verse,  and  to  adopt  a  language  as  harsh  as  the 
conduct  of  Pietra.  Such  a  change  of  vocabulary,  con- 
trary to  his  principles,  was  surely  not  made  without 
cause.  In  his  treatise  on  writing  in  the  vulgar  tongue, 
De  Vulgari  Eloquentia,  Dante  gives  careful  rules  with 
regard  to  the  choice  of  words;  "  for,"  says  he,  "  if  you 
study  the  elegant  mother  speech,  which,  as  I  have  said 
before,  should  be  used  in  tragic  composition  by  vernac- 
ular poets,  whom  it  is  our  purpose  to  instruct,  you  will 
be  careful  to  keep  in  your  sieve  only  the  most  dignified 
terms."  Now,  in  this  furious  ode,  the  poet  is  about  to 
throw  dignity  and  sweetness  to  the  winds,  and  warns  his 
readers  accordingly.  And  this  is  not  the  only  time.  At 
the  outset  of  one  other  poem  he  gives  a  similar  warning. 
The  third  ode  of  the  Banquet,  a  versified  disquisition  on 
the  true  nature  of  nobility,  begins  thus: 

The  dulcet  words  of  love,  which  I  of  old 

In  meditation  sought, 

I  now  must  leave,  tho'  not  without  a  thought 
Of  going  back  sometime. 

Such  dire,  disdainful  deeds  have  just  been  wrought 
By  this,  my  Lady  bold 


PIETRA  93 

That  fear  of  them  the  thoroughfare  doth  hold 
Of  mine  accustomed  rime. 
Since  I  must  bide  a  more  propitious  clime, 

The  honeyed  style  in  which  I  did  rehearse 
The  charms  of  love,  away  from  me  I  fling : 
Of  goodness  I  wTill  sing, 

Of  genuine  nobility's  true  nurse; 
With  harsh  and  cunning  verse 
Showing  how  false  the  judgment  is,  and  worse, 
Of  those  who  would  assert  that  gentle  worth 
In  riches  hath  its  birth. 
First  I  invoke  that  Lord  of  everything 

Who  dwells  so  patent  in  my  Lady's  eyes 
That  she  her  own  sweet  self  doth  idolize. 

The  Lady  of  this  strophe  is  without  question  Lady  Phi- 
losophy, who  is  shown,  in  one  of  Dante's  ballads,  enrap- 
tured with  the  image  of  Love  in  her  own  eyes. 

Returning  to  our  "  harsh  "  Pietra  poem,  we  shall  note 
that,  although  the  figures  rather  suggest  out-of-doors, 
there  is  no  plain  indication  of  locality,  as  there  was  in  the 
hilly  first  sestina,  nor  of  season,  such  as  we  found  in  the 
two  sestine  and  in  the  wintry  ode. 

I 

So  harsh  shall  be  my  speech,  so  harsh  and  rough, 

As  is  the  conduct  of  a  pretty  Stone 

\Vho  daily  makes  her  own 
Increasing  cruelty  and  insolence. 
She  clothes  herself  in  jasper  plate  so  tough 


94  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

That,  thanks  to  it,  or  thanks  to  flight  alone, 
No  shaft  from  sheaf  hath  flown 
That  e'er  hath  caught  her  heart  without  defence. 
She  kills  her  foe,  for  all  he  hie  him  thence, 
Or  hide,  or  flee  the  deadly  darts  she  flings, 
Which,  borne  by  unseen  wings, 

Descend  on  him  and  shatter  every  mail. 
Against  her  might,  my  strength  and  reason  fail. 

II 

No  shield  can  screen  me  from  her  shattering  blow, 
From  her  pursuing  gaze  I  vainly  flee. 
As  flower  on  stem,  so  she 

Perches  upon  my  mind  with  conquering  smile. 
She  seems  as  heedful  of  my  bitter  woe 

As  ship  seems  heedful  of  a  waveless  sea. 
The  weight  that  crushes  me 
Is  far  beyond  the  scope  of  any  style. 
O  pitiless  and  agonizing  file, 
Which  silently  dost  wear  my  life  away, 
Art  not  ashamed  to  stay 

And  gnaw  my  heart  to  dust  from  peel  to  peel, 
As  I  'm  ashamed  to  tell  whence  comes  thy  zeal  ? 

Ill 

Whene'er  I  find  myself  in  others'  view 

Thinking  of  her,  lest  men  my  thought  may  see 
Transpiring  outwardly, 
My  heart  is  more  afraid  and  trembles  more 

Than  I  'm  afraid  of  Death,  which  now  doth  chew 


PIETRA  95 

With  Love's  own  teeth  my  every  faculty; 
Which  so  consumeth  me 
That  intellect  stands  still,  enfeebled  sore. 
Love  striketh  me  to  earth,  and  standeth  o'er 
My  prostrate  form,  with  Dido's  deadly  steel; 
Then  I  to  him  appeal, 

Pleading  for  grace,  and  piteously  I  cry, 
But  mercy  Love  doth  stubbornly  deny. 

IV 

He,  lifting  now  and  then  his  hand,  defies 
My  sickly  life  —  this  tyrant  overbold, 
Who  close  to  earth  doth  hold 
My  body  flat  outstretcht,  too  tired  to  fight. 
Then  surge  into  my  brain  despairing  cries. 

The  blood  which  all  the  scattered  veins  enfold, 
Knowing  the  heart  is  cold, 
Comes  rushing  to  its  call,  and  leaves  me  white. 
My  left  arm  raising,  he  my  side  doth  smite 
So  hard,  the  pain  comes  throbbing  to  my  heart. 
Then  I:  "  If  he  should  start 

To  strike  again,  Death  will  have  taken  me 
Or  e'er  the  murderous  blow  completed  be." 


Would  I  could  see  him  split  the  cruel  jade 

Right  through  her  icy  heart,  who  mine  doth  crack! 
Then  Death  would  not  be  black, 
Which,  chasing  after  beauty,  I  pursue. 
She  gives  no  more  in  sunshine  than  in  shade, 


96  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

This  outlaw  thievish,  deadly  in  attack. 
Why  barketh  she  not  back 
For  me,  as  I  for  her,  in  boiling  brew  ? 
"  Quickly,"  I'd  cry,  "  I  come  to  succor  you!  " 
That  would  I  gladly  do,  and  laying  hold 
Of  ringlets  blond  as  gold, 

Which  Love,  to  torture  me,  hath  curled  and  dyed, 
My  hands  would  clutch  till  I  was  satisfied. 

VI 

If  I  could  seize  those  golden  locks  and  pull 

(Those  curls,  for  me  a  scourge,  my  heart  to  flay!), 
From  early  in  the  day 

I'd  hold  them  tight  till  vespers  and  the  dark; 
And  I  should  not  be  kind  or  pitiful, 

But  rather  like  a  bear,  when  he's  at  play. 
A  thousand  should  repay 

Love's  lashings,  which  on  me  have  left  their  mark. 
Into  those  handsome  eyes,  —  whence  flies  the  spark 
To  fire  my  heart,  now  dead  within,  —  I'd  stare 
With  close,  unchanging  glare, 

In  retribution  for  her  flight  from  me, 

And  then  in  peace  and  love  I'd  set  her  free. 

Envoy 

Now,  Song,  go  straight  unto  that  lawless  one 

Who  robbed  and  murdered  me,  and  never  gave 
The  thing  that  most  I  crave, 
And  shoot  an  arrow  thro'  her  cruel  breast; 
For  fair  renown  is  won  by  wrong  redrest. 


PIETRA  97 

A  weird,  uncomfortable  poem,  with  a  note  of  desperate 
wickedness,  such  as  one  might  expect  from  a  middle- 
aged  man  violently  in  love  with  a  very  young  girl! 

One  more  ode  claims  our  attention,  a  beautiful  and 
passionate  one,  less  vehement  than  the  "  harsh  "  poem 
just  quoted.  Whether  or  not  it  belongs  to  our  series,  is 
a  vexed  and  doubtless  insoluble  problem;  for  while  its 
general  tone  suggests  pietra,  it  does  not  contain  that 
word.  Probably  connected  with  this  composition,  and 
intended  to  introduce  it,  is  a  short  Latin  letter,  ad- 
dressed to  Marquis  Moroello  Malaspina,  of  the  Luni- 
giana  in  northwestern  Italy,  who  was  Dante's  host  in 
1306.  After  a  brief  introductory  declaration  of  devo- 
tion and  gratitude,  the  author,  who  has  just  left  with 
regret  the  free,  friendly  court  of  the  Malaspina  family, 
goes  on  to  relate:  "  No  sooner  had  I  set  foot,  heedless 
and  unafraid,  upon  the  Arno's  bank,  than  lo!  a  woman, 
falling  like  a  thunderbolt,  suddenly  appeared,  I  know 
not  how,  in  character  and  person  quite  in  keeping  with 
my  lot.  Oh!  how  bewildered  I  was  at  her  appearance! 
But  my  bewilderment  came  to  an  end  in  the  terror  of  the 
following  thunder-clap.  For  as  thunders  immediately 
follow  lightnings  by  day,  so,  when  I  had  beheld  the 
flash  of  her  beauty,  love  took  possession  of  me,  fearful 
and  masterful.  And,  fierce  as  an  exiled  lord  returning 
after  long  banishment  to  his  very  own,  he  either  slew  or 
expelled  or  bound  whatever  in  me  had  been  opposed  to 
him.  He  killed,  therefore,  that  praiseworthy  resolution 


98  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

of  mine,  to  beware  of  women  and  their  songs;  he  im- 
piously cast  out,  as  objects  of  suspicion,  the  constant 
meditations  in  which  I  was  contemplating  both  heavenly 
and  earthly  things;  and  finally,  lest  my  soul  should  rebel 
further  against  him,  he  so  bound  my  free  will  that  I  am 
constrained  to  turn,  not  whither  I  wish,  but  whither  he 
directs.  Love,  then,  rules  within  me,  with  no  strength 
to  resist  him;  and  how  he  rules  me,  you  must  learn 
outside  the  contents  of  this  document." 

Although  the  authenticity  of  this  odd  epistle  has  been 
contested,  it  is  regarded  by  most  scholars  as  probably 
genuine;  if  not  authentic,  it  is  of  course  a  deliberate 
forgery.  Accepting  it  provisionally,  we  must  infer  that 
the  ode  in  question  was  written  about  1307,  beside  the 
Arno;  and,  further,  that,  if  the  poem  really  is  connected 
with  Pietra,  it  is  the  first  of  the  series,  since  it  has  to  do 
with  the  first  appearance  of  the  woman  in  question. 
From  the  verses  themselves  we  learn  that  the  scene  is  on 
the  Arno,  among  mountains,  therefore  in  the  Casentino, 
the  wild  and  Alpine  upper  Arno  valley;  from  the  same 
source  we  learn  also  that  the  poem  was  written  during 
Dante's  exile. 

The  fantastic  style  of  the  letter  constitutes  a  real 
stumbling-block.  Several  suppositions  are  possible:  (1) 
that  the  work  is  a  stupid  fabrication,  patched  together 
from  the  poem;  (2)  that  it  was  intended  by  Dante  to 
suggest  an  allegorical  interpretation  of  the  lady  and  the 
verse;  (3)  that  Dante  purposely  couched  it  in  a  mock- 


PIETRA  99 

heroic  vein;  (4)  that  he  wrote  it  solemnly,  describing  a 
genuine  passion.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  either  that  the 
epistle  is  forged  (in  which  case  it  naturally  would  have 
no  importance)  or  that  it  was  intended  to  be  mock- 
heroic,  slightly  deprecating  an  infatuation  of  which  the 
author  was  ashamed.  And  well  he  might  be,  if  it  was  the 
infatuation  of  a  married  man  of  forty-two  or  so  for  a 
young  country  girl.  Still  another  hypothesis,  recently 
put  forward,  would  explain  letter  and  poem  as  an  ex- 
travagant compliment  to  a  hostess.  To  the  question 
of  allegory  I  shall  be  obliged  presently  to  return.  First 
let  us  consider  the  poem. 


O  Love,  since  I  must  sing  a  sad  appeal 

To  make  the  people  hear 
And  me  bereft  of  all  my  strength  to  show, 
Now  give  me  skill  to  tell  the  grief  I  feel, 

That  words  may  let  appear 
The  pangs  that  pricking  from  my  bosom  go. 
Thou  'dst  have  me  die,  and  I  would  have  it  so. 
But  who  will  sorrow,  if  I  cannot  say 
What  thou  dost  make  me  pay  ? 

Who  will  believe  that  such  a  load  I  bear  ? 
But  if  thou  grantest  speech  to  match  my  woe, 
Let  not  the  culprit,  ere  I  pass  away, 
Hear  aught  from  me!  For  this,  my  Lord,  I  pray! 
For  should  she  catch  my  inner  voice  of  care, 
Pity  would  make  her  fairest  face  less  fair. 


100  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

II 

I  cannot  flee  from  her,  nor  yet  prevent 

Her  coming  to  my  mind; 

Nor  yet  from  thought,  which  brings  her  there,  refrain. 
My  crazy  soul,  on  self-destruction  bent, 

Still  pictures  her,  unkind 

And  beauteous  as  she  is,  and  thus  repeats  its  pain ; 
Then  looks  on  her  once  more,  and  full  again 
Of  boundless  longing,  drawn  from  witching  eyes, 
Against  itself  it  cries, 

Which  lit  the  fire  that  burneth  it  to  death. 
All  reason's  checks  and  arguments  are  vain 
When  raging  whirlwinds  in  my  bosom  rise! 
My  anguish,  loath  to  bide  within  me,  flies 

Forth  from  my  lips  so  plain,  men  hear  its  breath, 
And  eyes  to  pay  their  tribute  summoneth. 

Ill 

The  hostile  image,  which  remaineth  so 

Victorious  and  fell 

Within  my  mind,  and  chains  my  will  with  fear, 
Enamored  of  itself,  doth  make  me  go 

WThere  it  in  flesh  doth  dwell, 
As  like  to  like  its  course  will  ever  steer. 
Sunshine,  I  know,  makes  snow  to  disappear; 
But  what  of  that  ?  a  prisoner  am  I, 
Whom,  howsoe'er  I  try, 

My  own  unwilling  feet  to  scaffold  bear. 
WThen  I  have  come  anigh,  I  seem  to  hear 


PIETRA  101 

A  voice:  "  Come,  come,  wilt  see  this  fellow  die  ?  " 

Seeking  to  whom  I  pleading  may  reply, 

I  turn  about!  so  maddened  by  the  stare 
Of  eyes  unwilling  guiltless  life  to  spare. 

IV 

What  I  shall  do,  thus  wounded  by  thy  dart, 

Thou  knowest,  Love,  not  I, 
Who  stay'st  to  gaze  my  lifeless  form  upon. 
And  if  my  soul  returneth  to  the  heart, 

Forgetfulness  was  nigh 
And  ignorance  was  there  while  it  was  gone. 
When  I  arise  again,  my  wound  to  con, 
Which  so  undid  me  when  I  felt  the  blow, 
I  cannot  rally  so 

As  not  to  quake  in  all  my  limbs  for  fright. 
Reveals  full  clear  enough  my  visage  wan 
What  was  the  thunderbolt  that  laid  me  low. 
Tho'  pretty  smiles  those  lightning-strokes  bestow, 
My  face  must  long  remain  devoid  of  light, 
Because  my  timid  spirit  fears  to  fight. 

V 

'Mid  mountains,  thus,  O  Love,  hast  wrought  me  ill, 

Far  up  along  the  stream 
Beside  whose  bank  thou  always  rulest  me. 
Here,  quick  or  dead,  thou  handiest  me  at  will, 

Thanks  to  a  cruel  gleam 

Which  lights  the  way  to  death,  flashing  for  thee. 
No  ladies  here,  no  gentle  folk  I  see, 


102  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

To  mourn,  alas!  for  my  distressful  lot; 

If  she  still  heeds  me  not, 

None  else  to  guess  my  sorrow  hath  the  wit; 
And  she,  from  thy  domain  compelled  to  flee, 

Defies,  O  Lord,  thy  sharpest  arrow's  shot. 

Of  hardened  pride,  before  her  heart,  a  clot 

Turns  back  the  point  of  all  the  shafts  that  hit, 
And  thus  her  armored  breast  by  none  is  bit. 

Envoy 

Now  go,  my  little  mountain  Song,  thy  way ! 
Florence,  my  city,  haply  shalt  thou  see, 
Who  locks  her  gates  to  me, 

Empty  of  pity,  seeming  love  to  spurn. 
To  her,  if  thou  shouldst  be  admitted,  say: 
"  My  maker  nevermore  can  war  with  thee! 
Up  yonder,  he  is  chained  so  mightily 
That,  even  were  thy  cruelty  less  stern, 
No  longer  hath  he  freedom  to  return." 

The  question  whether  this  poem  belongs  to  our  group 
is  of  the  utmost  importance:  for,  if  it  does,  the  date  of 
the  Pietra  episode  is  determined  beyond  doubt  (what- 
ever we  may  think  of  the  Latin  letter)  as  belonging  to 
the  period  of  Dante's  exile,  and  the  place  is  fixed  some- 
where in  the  Casentino,  a  locality  dimly  indicated  by  the 
"  hills  "  of  the  first  sestina;  furthermore,  inasmuch  as 
the  cruel  lady  and  Florence  appear  as  opposing  powers, 
this  lady  cannot,  as  some  have  suggested,  symbolize  the 
city.  The  word  pietra  being  absent,  we  have  no  definite 


PIETRA  103 

evidence;  but  the  Pietra-like  temper  of  the  poem,  com- 
bined with  the  lack  of  resemblance  to  any  other  group, 
inclines  me  to  the  belief  that  we  have  in  this  ode  a  mem- 
ber of  our  set,  which  would  then  comprise  five  pieces  — 
two  sestine  and  three  canzoni.  It  may  be  that  the  use  of 
the  symbol  of  stone  did  not  occur  to  Dante  until  he 
came  to  write  the  second  of  the  series. 

In  all  these  poems  Love  is  personified,  appearing  as  an 
irresistible  god;  and  in  four  of  them  we  have  the  addi- 
tional image  of  the  stone,  to  represent  the  insensible 
young  beloved.  To  this  limited  extent,  the  verses  are 
symbolistic.  Now  we  must  ask  ourselves :  are  they  also 
allegorical  ?  In  other  words,  have  we  to  do  here  with  a 
real  person  or  with  a  feminine  form  standing  for  some- 
thing else,  as,  in  the  Divine  Comedy,  Matilda  stands  for 
innocence  and  Beatrice  for  revelation  ?  Allegory,  in 
Dante's  writings,  is  not  confined  to  the  great  Comedy: 
we  find  it  also,  as  I  have  said  before,  in  a  number  of 
lyrics  devoted  to  Lady  Philosophy  and  expounded  in 
part  by  the  author  himself  in  his  Banquet.  In  stating  his 
reasons  for  publishing  this  book,  Dante  declares,  among 
other  things,  that  he  was  moved  by  the  fear  of  infamy. 
"  I  fear,"  he  says,  "  the  infamy  of  having  followed  such 
a  passion  as  the  reader  of  the  aforesaid  odes  conceives 
to  have  dominated  me;  which  infamy  is  removed  by  my 
present  full  account  of  myself,  which  shows  that  not 
passion  but  virtue  was  the  moving  cause.  I  intend  also 
to  reveal  the  real  meaning  of  those  poems,  which  by 


104  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

some  cannot  be  seen  unless  I  tell  it,  being  hidden  under 
the  figure  of  allegory." 

We  know  from  himself  that  he  purposed  thus  to  ex- 
plain certain  poems  whose  first  inspiration  came  from 
a  compassionate  young  lady  figuring  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  New  Life.  This  comforter,  he  tells  us,  was  made 
by  him  a  symbol  of  philosophy;  and  he  apparently 
would  have  us  believe  that  all  the  amatory  verse  seem- 
ingly addressed  to  this  lady  was  made  with  an  allegori- 
cal intention  —  as  some  of  it  certainly  was.  Now,  we 
should  like  to  know  whether  this  group  of  poems  is  the 
only  one  that  he  meant  to  interpret  allegorically.  The 
Banquet,  far  from  completed,  contains  only  three  of  the 
fourteen  odes  it  was  planned  to  elucidate.  What  we  are 
especially  curious  to  learn  is  whether  Dante  had  it  in 
mind  to  subject  the  Pietra  lyrics  to  the  same  process. 
We  can  only  guess;  and  we  have  no  particular  facilities 
even  for  guessing. 

At  this  point  we  must  decide  whether  the  Pietra 
poems  and  the  philosophical  poems  really  do  form  two 
separate  groups;  for  it  has  been  assumed  by  some 
scholars  that  Pietra  and  the  personifier  of  philosophy 
are  one.  In  favor  of  this  hypothesis  is  the  use  of  the 
word  Pargoletta,  or  "  Little  Maid,"  in  one  undoubted 
Pietra  poem  and  in  two  that  almost  surely  belong  to 
Lady  Philosophy.  In  both  series  the  loved  object  is 
very  youthful.  Moreover,  there  are  a  few  pieces  of 
verse  that  seem  to  fit  almost  equally  well  into  both 


PIETRA  105 

categories.  But  if  we  take  each  set  as  a  whole,  we  shall 
find  that  it  is  tolerably  distinct  from  the  other.  The 
poems  to  Pietra,  intensely  passionate  and  always  hope- 
less, are  associated  with  mountains  and  winter;  those 
presumably  dedicated  to  Lady  Philosophy  are  char- 
acterized by  a  suggestion  of  the  supernatural,  by  a 
conflict  between  an  old  love  and  a  new,  and  by  varia- 
tions in  the  attitude  of  the  lady.  Not  every  member  of 
either  class  contains  all  the  features  of  its  own  category; 
but  none,  as  I  have  divided  them,  contains  features  of 
the  other.  There  seems,  then,  to  be  a  sufficient  principle 
of  differentiation. 

This  differentiation,  however,  does  not  dispose  of  the 
question  whether  the  lyrics  dealing  with  Pietra  have  an 
allegorical  intent.  For  even  though  their  lady  do  not 
represent  philosophy,  she  may  symbolize  something 
else  —  for  instance,  poetic  art,  a  suitable  object,  if  we 
consider  their  workmanship.  Florence,  too,  would  be 
appropriate  as  the  hard-hearted  mistress,  if  we  excluded 
one  of  the  five  pieces;  otherwise,  as  I  have  shown,  it 
would  be  impossible.  But  really,  aside  from  Dante's 
statement  in  the  Banquet,  which  may  not  have  to  do 
with  these  poems  at  all,  we  have  no  cause  to  regard  them 
as  allegorical.  There  is  no  hint  of  mystic  significance 
in  the  verses  themselves;  in  fact,  their  tenor  makes  a 
symbolic  purpose  seem  almost  incongruous. 

If,  our  Pietra  being  reduced  to  a  creature  of  flesh  and 
blood,  the  object  (supposedly)  of  a  transient  and  be- 


106  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

lated  infatuation,  we  inquire  who  she  was,  we  receive  no 
answer.  Tempting  as  it  is,  we  must  reject  as  unproven 
the  hypothesis  of  a  modern  critic  (V.  Imbriani,  Suite 
canzoni  pietrose  di  Dante,  in  Studi  danteschi,  1891),  that 
she  was  Pietra  di  Donato  di  Brunaccio,  wife  of  the  poet's 
brother  Francesco,  a  theory  which,  if  we  could  accept  it, 
would  account  for  the  note  of  wickedness  previously 
observed.  Quite  unsupported  is  the  identification,  by  a 
Renaissance  writer  (A.  M.  Amadi,  Annotationi  sopra 
una  canzone  morale,  1565),  of  our  Pietra  with  Pietra 
degli  Scrovegni,  an  aristocratic  and  cultivated  lady  of 
Padua.  Equally  unlikely  —  going  back  to  Dante's  own 
century  —  is  the  hearsay  affirmation  by  Boccaccio 
(Compendio,  xvii)  that  Dante  fell  in  love,  while  visiting 
the  Casentino,  with  a  certain  woman  attractive  in  face 
but  afflicted  with  a  goitre.  Summing  up  the  little  we 
know  and  all  we  can  lawfully  infer,  the  most  explicit 
statement  we  can  make,  even  tentatively,  is  that  the 
poems  we  have  examined  express  a  bitter  and  unre- 
quited passion  of  the  poet  for  a  young  mountain  girl. 


IV.     BEATRICE 

DANTE'S  New  Life  opens  in  this  wise:  "In  that 
part  of  the  book  of  my  memory  before  which  little 
is  legible,  is  found  a  rubric,  Incipit  Vita  Nova  ['  Begin- 
ning of  the  New  Life  '] ;  under  which  rubric  I  find  the 
words  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  copy  down  in  this  little 
book,  and,  if  not  all  of  them,  at  least  their  substance." 
The  author's  plan,  therefore,  is  to  record  the  psychic 
experiences  of  his  "  new  life,"  the  life  which  begins  with 
his  rebirth  under  the  influence  of  "  the  most  gentle 
Beatrice."  And  these  experiences  extend  almost  as  far 
back  into  his  childhood  as  distinct  memory  can  go.  The 
first  of  them,  which  occurs  in  his  ninth  year,  is  narrated 
as  follows:  "Nine  times  already,  after  my  birth,  the 
heaven  of  light  [the  sphere  of  the  sun]  had  returned 
almost  to  the  same  point,  in  its  own  [annual]  revolution, 
when  first  appeared  to  my  eyes  the  glorious  queen  of  my 
mind,  who  was  called  Beatrice  by  many  who  knew  not 
what  they  were  calling."  The  last  clause  may  mean 
also,  "  who  knew  not  what  to  call  ":  in  the  one  case  the 
significance  would  be  that  her  acquaintances,  who  used 
her  real  name,  Beatrices-were  unaware  of  the  mystic 
appropriateness  of  that  appellation,  which  means 
Bestower  of  Blessings^/  in  the  other  case  we  should 
understand  that  strangers,  not  knowing  her  name, 
instinctively  called  her  Beatrice  because  of  her  benign 


107 


108  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

influence.  I  believe  Dante  intentionally  made  the  phrase 
mysteriously  ambiguous,  in  order,  at  least  ostensibly, 
to  leave  his  readers  in  doubt  whether JBeatrice_was  his 
lady's  actual  name  or  a  poetic  epithet,  like  Primavera 
or  Pietra. 

The  episode  continues  thus:  "  She  had  already  been 
so  long  in  this  life  that  in  her  time  the  starry  heaven 
[the  sphere  of  the  fixed  stars,  which  revolves  one  degree 
in  a  hundred  years]  had  moved  toward  the  eastern 
quarter  one  of  the  twelve  parts  of  a  degree."  She  had, 
therefore,  lived  one-twelfth  of  one  hundred  years,  or 
eight  and  one-third  years.  "  It  was,  then,  almost  at  the 
beginning  of  her  ninth  year  that  she  appeared  to  me, 
and  I  saw  her  almost  at  the  end  of  my  ninth.  She 
appeared  to  me  clad  in  a  very  noble  color,  modest  and 
dignified,  a  color  blood-red  [the  symbol  of  love],  girdled 
and  adorned  after  the  fashion  that  befitted  her  very 
youthful  age."  Now  we  come  to  the  description  of  his 
transformation,  couched  in  the  psychological  terminol- 
ogy of  the  day.  "  At  that  moment  I  declare  verily  that 
the  spirit  of  life,  which  dwells  in  the  most  secret  cham- 
ber of  the  heart,  began  to  tremble  so  hard  that  it  was 
horribly  evident  in  the  smallest  pulses;  and,  trembling, 
it  spake  these  words:  '  Lo!  a  God  stronger  than  I,  who 
shall  come  and  rule  over  me.'  '  The  spirit  of  life,  in 
Dante,  is  in  the  future  to  be  governed  by  the  God  of 
Love.  "  At  that  moment  the  animal  spirit,  which  dwells 
in  the  high  chamber  [the  brain]  to  which  all  the  spirits 


BEATRICE  109 

of  sense  [which  we  call  nerves]  carry  their  perceptions, 
began  to  wonder  greatly,  and,  addressing  in  particular 
the  spirits  of  sight,  it  spake  these  words :  *  Your  happi- 
ness hath  now  appeared.'  '  From  now  on,  Dante's 
senses,  and  especially  the  sense  of  sight,  shall  have  their 
joy  in  Beatrice  alone^  "  At  that  point  the  naturafspirTE, 
which  dwells  in  that  place  where  our  nourishment  is 
administered  [the  liver],  began  to  weep,  and,  weeping, 
spake  these  words:  '  Woe  is  me!  for  often  I  shall  be 
obstructed  henceforth !  '  '  Under  the  influence  of  Love, 
the  natural  operations  of  the  body  are  liable  to  inter- 
ruption by  palpitations  and  swoons. 

The  strange,  overmastering  effect  of  love  on  the  phys- 
ical and  mental  faculties  is  described  by  the  poet  in  an 
ode,  not  included  in  the  New  Life,  called  E'  m'  incresce  di 
me  si  malamente,  which  begins: 

I  feel  such  cruel  pity  for  myself 

That  sympathy  awakes 
A  pain  as  keen  as  that  of  my  distress. 

After  a  vivid  portrayal  of  the  agonies  of  love,  the  poem 
goes  on  to  tell  how  they  began,  carrying  their  origin 
considerably  further  back  than  it  is  carried  in  the  more 
rational  account  given  by  the  New  Life. 

V 

The  day  this  lady  came  into  the  world,  — 

As  still  is  clearly  shown 
In  memory's  book,  which  fadeth  fast  away,  — 


110  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Into  my  tiny,  helpless  form  was  hurled 

A  passion  all  unknown, 

Which  kept  me  filled  with  quivering  dismay. 
A  check  was  put  on  all  my  powers  that  day 
So  suddenly  that  straight  to  earth  I  fell, 

Hearing  a  voice,  which  fearful  smote  my  breast. 
If  truth  the  book  do  tell, 

My  greatest  spirit  quaked,  with  shortened  breath, 
So  hard,  't  was  plain  that  death 

Had  come  to  earth  to  be  that  spirit's  guest. 
Now  Love,  who  did  it  all,  is  sore  distrest. 

VI 

Then,  later,  when  I  saw  her  beauteous  face, 

The  source  of  all  my  harm, 
(Fair  listening  ladies,  who  avoid  me  not!) 
That  faculty  which  hath  the  highest  place, 

Considering  her  charm, 
Clearly  perceived  its  miserable  lot 
And  recognized  the  longing  that  was  got 
By  one  sweet  lingering  look  her  eyes  did  cast; 

And  thus  addrest  the  other  faculties : 
"  Who  once  was  here,  is  past! 
Henceforth  that  lovely  figure  shall  I  see 
Which  now  doth  frighten  me; 

And  over  all  of  us,  when  it  shall  please 

Her  queenly  eyes,  the  sceptre  she  shall  seize." 

"  From  that  time  forth,"  the  New  Life  goes  on,  "  I 
declare  that  Love  ruled  my  soul,  which  was  so  quickly 


BEATRICE  111 

wedded  to  him,  and  began  to  assume  over  me  such  assur- 
ance and  such  mastery,  thanks  to  the  power  given  him 
by  my  imagination,  that  I  was  constrained  to  do  all  his 
pleasures  completely.  Many  times  did  he  command  me 
to  go  in  search  of  this  very  youthful  angel;  wherefore 
did  I  often  in  my  boyhood  set  forth  to  seek  her,  and  I 
would  see  her  of  such  noble  and  praiseworthy  bearing 
that  surely  one  might  say  of  her  that  phrase  of  the  poet 
Homer,  '  She  seemed  not  the  child  of  mortal  man,  but 
of  God.' '  If,  as  Boccaccio  tells  us,  this  maiden  was 
Beatrice  Portinari,  the  daughter  of  a  neighbor,  it  is 
likely  that  Dante  saw  her  frequently.  Not  until  nine 
years  after  the  first  meeting,  however,  when  the  young 
people  were  seventeen,  did  Beatrice  speak  to  her  admirer 
-  if  we  are  to  believe  the  account  in  the  Vita  Nuova. 
This  first  greeting  was  the  occasion  of  the  first  poem 
included  in  the  "  little  book,"  the  dream-sonnet,  which 
he  sent  to  various  literary  men  of  his  day,  several  of 
whom  replied  in  verse  to  the  new  poet.  To  this  sonnet 
we  shall  presently  return. 

In  the  stanzas  above  quoted,  one  is  particularly  struck 
by  these  lines: 

"  Who  once  was  here,  is  past! 

Henceforth  that  lovely  figure  shall  I  see 
Which  now  doth  frighten  me," 

which  would  seem  to  point  to  a  previous  interest,  before 
the  coming  of  Beatrice.  One  calls  to  mind  the  screen 
ladies,  whom  I  mentioned  in  the  discussion  of  Violet  — 


THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

those  young  persons  for  whom,  according  to  the  New 
Life,  the  poet  professed  an  admiration,  in  order  to  con- 
ceal his  love  for  Beatrice.  They  appear  at  this  stage  of 
the  story;  and  we  may,  without  undue  skepticism, 
suspect  that,  in  the  budding  emotions  of  a  lad  of  seven- 
teen to  twenty,  no  sharp  distinction  was  made  between 
"  the  most  gentle  "  and  sundry  other  gentle  lasses.  It 
may  be  that  we  have  a  glimpse  of  that  fluctuating  period 
in  an  unattached  sonnet,  probably  Dante's,  Due  donne 
in  cima  delta  mente  mia: 

Upon  the  summit  of  my  mind  I  see 

Two  ladies,  who  of  love  are  come  to  speak. 

The  one  possesseth  grace  and  merit  meek, 
Mated  with  prudence  and  with  modesty. 
Beauty  the  other  hath,  and  charm,  in  fee; 

Sweet  gentleness  her  company  doth  seek. 

Thanks  to  my  kindly  master,  I,  all  weak, 
Stand  here,  obedient  to  their  sovereignty. 
Beauty  and  worth  their  case  to  judgment  state : 

"  How  can  a  heart  divided  stand,"  they  plead, 
"  Between  two  maids,  with  love  immaculate  ?  " 

The  Font  of  gentle  speech  declares  his  creed: 
"  One  may  love  beauty,  which  doth  captivate, 

And  virtue  may  be  loved  for  noble  deed." 

In  consequence  of  some  real  or  pretended  captivation, 
Beatrice  denies  Dante  her  greeting.  Then  comes  the 
episode  of  her  mockery,  at  the  wedding  banquet;  and 
that  is  followed  by  the  criticism  of  Dante's  verses  by  a 


BEATRICE  113 

group  of  lady  friends,  and  the  poet's  conversion  to  the 
"  dolce  stil  nuovo"  The  immediate  fruit  of  this  change 
of  manner  is  the  first  canzone,  Donne  ch'  avete  intelletto 
d'amore.  Of  these  things  I  have  already  spoken  in  de- 
tail, and  I  have  cited  (p.  21)  a  stanza  of  the  ode,  which 
discourses  of  the  angelic  character  of  Beatrice,  her 
fitness  for  Heaven,  and  her  miraculous  influence  on 
earth. 

After  a  couple  of  little  poems  in  the  "  new  style  " 
comes  the  death  of  the  "  most  noble  "  lady's  father, 
who,  if  he  really  was  Folco,  of  the  distinguished  old 
Ghibelline  family  of  the  Portinari,  passed  away  on 
December  31,  1289,  having  been  four  times  Prior  of 
Florence,  and  having  founded  the  hospital  of  Santa 
Maria  Novella.  We  still  have  his  will,  dated  January 
15,  1288,  bequeathing  his  property  to  five  sons  and  six 
daughters,  among  them  "  Bice,  wife  of  Master  Simone 
dei  Bardi."  If,  then,  Boccaccio's  identification  is  cor- 
rect, Bice,  or  Beatrice,  was  by  1288  wedded  to  this 
Simone,  a  banker  and  philanthropist  well  known  in 
Florence.  Dante  nowhere  speaks  of  a  marriage  of 
Beatrice;  but  possibly  his  change  of  style  was  not 
unconnected  with  such  an  event. 

"  Not  many  days  later,  as  it  pleased  the  glorious  Lord 
(who  did  not  deny  death  unto  himself),  he  who  had  been 
the  father  of  that  great  miracle  which  the  most  noble 
Beatrice  was  seen  to  be,  issuing  from  this  life,  went 
forth  verily  to  eternal  glory.  Wherefore,  inasmuch  as 


114  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

such  a  departure  is  painful  to  those  who  are  left  and 
have  been  friends  of  him  who  parteth,  and  inasmuch  as 
there  is  no  such  close  friendship  as  that  from  a  good 
father  to  a  good  child  and  from  a  good  child  to  a  good 
father,  and  inasmuch  as  the  goodness  of  this  lady  was  of 
very  high  degree,  and  her  father  (as  many  believe,  and 
rightly)  was  good  to  a  high  degree,  it  is  clear  that  this 
lady  was  most  bitterly  filled  with  pain.  And  inasmuch 
as,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  aforesaid  city,  ladies 
gather  together  with  ladies,  and  men  with  men,  for  such 
mourning,  many  ladies  gathered  there  where  this  Bea- 
trice was  weeping  piteously;  wherefore  I,  as  I  watched 
some  ladies  returning  from  her,  heard  them  speak  words 
of  this  most  gentle  one,  how  she  was  grieving.  Among 
which  words  I  heard  some  that  said:  '  Surely  she 
weepeth  so  that  whosoever  should  see  her  would  have 
to  die  of  pity.'  Then  these  ladies  passed  on;  and  I  was 
left  in  such  sadness  that  from  time  to  time  a  tear  wet  my 
face,  wherefore  I  concealed  myself  by  often  putting  my 
hands  to  my  eyes.  And  if  it  were  not  that  I  expected  to 
hear  more  of  her,  being  in  a  place  where  passed  the 
greater  part  of  those  ladies  who  went  forth  from  her,  I 
should  have  hidden  myself  the  moment  the  tears  had 
beset  me.  Therefore,  as  I  was  still  remaining  in  the 
same  place,  more  ladies  passed  near  me,  who  went 
speaking  among  them  these  words:  '  Which  of  us  shall 
ever  be  happy,  since  we  have  heard  this  lady  speak  so 
piteously  ?  '  After  these,  others  went  by,  who  came 


BEATRICE  115 

saying:  '  This  man,  who  is  here,  weepeth  neither  more 
nor  less  than  if  he  had  seen  her,  as  we  have.'  Wherefore 
I,  reflecting,  determined  to  write  words,  since  I  had  fit 
cause  to  write,  in  which  words  I  should  include  all  that 
I  had  heard  from  these  ladies.  And  inasmuch  as  I 
gladly  would  have  questioned  them,  had  it  not  been 
reprehensible,  I  set  about  composing  as  if  I  had  ques- 
tioned them  and  they  had  answered  me.  And  I  made 
two  sonnets,  in  the  first  of  which  I  question  after  the 
fashion  that  I  felt  a  desire  to  ask,  and  in  the  other  I  tell 
their  reply,  taking  what  I  heard  from  them  as  if  they 
had  said  it  to  me  by  way  of  answer." 

The  two  sonnets,  then,  together  form  a  dialogue,  the 
first  being  spoken  by  the  author,  the  second  by  the 
ladies.  The  same  subject  recurs  in  two  other  poems  by 
Dante,  Onde  venite  voi  cosi  pensose  and  Voi  donne  che 
pietoso  alto  mostrate,  not  included  in  the  New  Life;  but 
in  the  first  of  these  we  have  only  the  poet's  speech, 
without  the  ladies'  reply,  while  in  the  second  the  ques- 
tion and  the  answer  are  included  in  a  single  poem.  Here 
are  the  two  sonnets  from  the  Vita  Nuova,  whose  origin 
the  writer  has  just  narrated: 

Dante  to  Ladies 

O  ye  who  walk  with  self-forgetful  mien, 
With  lowered  eyes  betraying  hidden  rue, 
Whence  come  ye,  wearing  pity's  very  hue 

And  very  look  ?  Ah!  tell,  where  have  ye  been  ? 

Have  ye  perchance  our  gentle  Lady  seen, 


116  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

With  Love  upon  her  face  all  bathed  in  dew  ? 

Ladies,  reply!  My  heart  declares  't  is  true, 
Because  ye  walk  majestic,  like  a  queen. 
And  if  ye  come  from  such  a  piteousness, 

I  pray  you  here  a  bit  with  me  to  bide 
And  how  it  fares  with  her,  to  me  confess. 

Your  eyes  cannot  conceal  that  they  have  cried. 
I  see  you  come,  such  pictures  of  distress, 

I  dare  not  think  of  what  is  prophesied. 

Ladies  to  Dante 

Art  thou  the  man  who  oft  hath  been  inclined 

To  sing  of  Her,  addressing  us  alone  ? 

His  voice  and  thine,  indeed,  are  like  in  tone, 
And  yet  thy  visage  seems  of  different  kind. 
Alas!  why  weepest  thou,  so  unresigned 

That  thou  wouldst  kindle  pity  in  a  stone  ? 

Oh !  hast  thou  listened  to  her  piteous  moan, 
Who  canst  not  now  conceal  thy  sorrowing  mind  ? 

Leave  tears  to  us,  and  sad  funereal  pace! 

'T  is  sin  to  wish  that  we  be  comforted, 
Since  we  have  heard  her  speak  with  mournful  grace. 

Such  sadness  hovers  plainly  o'er  her  head 
That  who  should  try  to  look  upon  her  face, 

Weeping  would  sink  to  earth  before  her,  dead. 

We  have  now  reached  the  central  incident  of  the  Vita 
Nuova:  an  illness  of  the  author,  during  which  he  has  a 
feverish  dream,  foreboding  the  death  of  his  beloved. 
This  delirious  vision  forms  the  theme  of  the  second 


BEATRICE  117 

canzone.  Here  is  Dante's  prose  paraphrase  of  it:  "  Some 
days  after  this,  it  came  to  pass  that  in  a  certain  part  of 
my  person  there  fell  upon  me  a  painful  illness,  where- 
from  I  continually  suffered  for  nine  days  very  bitter 
pain,  which  brought  me  to  such  weakness  that  I  had  to 
stay  as  those  who  cannot  move.  I  declare  that  on  the 
ninth  day,  feeling  almost  unbearable  pain,  I  had  a 
thought,  which  was  of  my  lady.  And  when  I  had 
thought  of  her  a  little,  I  returned  in  meditation  to  my 
enfeebled  life;  and,  seeing  how  slight  was  its  duration, 
even  had  it  been  sound,  I  began  to  weep  to  myself  at 
such  misery.  Wherefore,  sighing  heavily,  I  said  to  my- 
self: '  It  must  needs  be  that  the  most  gentle  Beatrice 
at  some  time  die.'  And  at  that  such  violent  distraction 
came  upon  me  that  I  closed  my  eyes  and  began  to 
change  like  a  frantic  person,  and  to  imagine  in  this  wise. 
At  the  outset  of  my  fancy's  wandering,  certain  faces  of 
disheveled  women  appeared  to  me,  saying:  *  Thou,  too, 
shalt  die! '  And  after  these  women,  there  appeared  to 
me  certain  faces  strange  and  horrible  to  see,  which  said 
unto  me :  '  Thou  art  dead ! '  My  fancy  thus  beginning  to 
stray,  I  came  to  such  a  pass  that  I  knew  not  where  I  was; 
and  I  seemed  to  see  women  walking  disheveled  on  the 
street,  weeping,  marvelously  sad;  and  I  seemed  to  see 
the  sun  darkened  so  that  the  stars  showed  themselves, 
of  such  a  color  as  to  lead  me  to  think  that  they  were 
weeping;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  birds  flying 
through  the  air  dropped  dead,  and  that  there  were  very 


118  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

great  earthquakes.  And,  as  I  marveled  in  this  fancy, 
sore  afraid,  I  imagined  a  certain  friend  coming  and  say- 
ing: '  Now  knowest  thou  not  ?  Thy  wondrous  lady 
hath  parted  from  this  world ! '  Then  began  I  to  weep 
right  piteously;  and  not  only  did  I  weep  in  imagination, 
but  I  wept  with  my  eyes,  wetting  them  with  real  tears. 
I  thought  I  looked  toward  heaven,  and  I  seemed  to  see  a 
host  of  angels  returning  upward  with  a  very  white  little 
cloud  before  them;  and  these  angels  seemed  to  be  sing- 
ing gloriously,  and  it  seemed  to  me  their  song  was 
*  Hosanna  in  excelsis,'  and  I  seemed  to  hear  naught  else. 
Then  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  heart,  where  was  so  much 
love,  said  to  me:  '  True  it  is  that  our  lady  lieth  dead.' 
And  therefore  I  seemed  to  go  to  see  the  body  in  which 
had  been  that  most  noble  and  blessed  soul.  And  so 
strong  was  my  errant  fancy  that  it  showed  me  this  lady 
dead;  and  I  thought  ladies  were  covering  her  head  with 
a  white  veil;  and  I  thought  her  face  had  such  a  look  of 
meekness  that  it  seemed  to  say:  *  I  am  beholding  the 
source  of  peace.'  "  After  the  funeral  rites,  Dante  seems 
to  return  to  his  chamber,  and  there  to  call  on  Beatrice 
and  death;  then,  waking  with  the  name  of  Beatrice  on 
his  lips,  he  finds  that  his  sobs  have  aroused  consternation 
in  a  very  young  and  sympathetic  relative  (probably  a 
sister)  who  was  watching  over  him,  and  that  her  weep- 
ing has  startled  other  ladies  in  the  sick  room.  Let  me 
cite  one  stanza  from  the  middle  of  the  poem,  which  is 
called  Donna  pietosa  e  di  novella  etate: 


BEATRICE  119 

IV 

Then  I  beheld  full  many  a  fearful  thing 

In  that  delirium  which  encompast  me. 
I  seemed  to  be  in  some  unheard-of  spot 
Where  women  all  unkempt  were  wandering, 

Some  shedding  tears,  some  wailing  piteously, 
Whose  cries  a  pelting  fire  of  sadness  shot. 
Then  slowly  darkness  seems  the  sun  to  blot 
Till  finally  the  smallest  star  appears  — 
Both  stars  and  sun  in  tears. 

The  soaring  birdlets  seem  to  drop  in  flocks; 
The  earth  (I  see  it!)  rocks; 

And,  weak  and  pale,  a  man:  "  Knowest  thou  not  ? 
Hast  thou  not  heard  the  story  ?     Dost  not  care  ? 
Dead  is  thy  lady,  she  that  was  so  fair!  " 

Next  in  order  is  the  incident  of  Monna  Vanna  and 
Monna  Bice,  the  former,  who  is  surnamed  "  Primavera," 
walking  ahead  of  Dante's  lady  (see  p.  58).  Then,  after 
a  discourse  on  personification,  come  two  "  new  style  " 
sonnets  of  peculiar  serenity  and  sweetness,  placed  here, 
no  doubt,  to  furnish  a  contrast  to  the  impending  catas- 
trophe. Here  is  the  first,  Tanto  gentile  e  tanto  onesta  pare: 

So  dignified  my  lady  looks  always, 

And  dear,  when  she  a  greeting  doth  bestow, 

That  every  trembling  tongue  doth  speechless  grow, 

And  eyes  are  all  afraid  on  her  to  gaze. 

In  meekness  clad,  tho'  hearing  naught  but  praise, 
Her  modest,  kindly  way  she  still  doth  go. 


120  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

A  thing  she  seems  from  Heaven  sent  below, 
A  miracle,  our  spirits  to  amaze. 
Her  countenance  so  charms  the  seeing  eye 

That  sweetness  swells  the  heart,  from  up  above, 
Which  he  who  sees  not,  cannot  comprehend; 
Forth  from  her  face  there  seems  its  way  to  wend 
A  sprite  replete  with  gentleness  and  love, 
Which  beareth  to  the  soul  this  message:  "  Sigh!  " 

The  second  is  called  Vede  perfettamente  ogni  salute: 

All  happiness  he  fully  doth  behold 

With  other  ladies  who  my  lady  sees; 
And  those  who  walk  with  her  should  not  withhold 

Their  gratitude  to  God  for  his  decrees. 
Her  beauty  hath  such  majesty  untold, 

No  jealousy  its  sight  accompanies; 
But  her  companions  it  doth  all  enfold 

In  faith  and  love  and  gentle  qualities. 
Her  presence  turns  to  meekness  every  thing, 

And  gives  such  dignity  to  womankind 

That  men  not  her  alone,  but  others,  bless. 
And  all  her  doings  are  so  comforting 

That  not  a  man  can  bring  her  back  to  mind 
Who  shall  not  sigh  with  loving  tenderness. 

While  the  poet  is  in  this  mood,  and  just  in  the  act  of 
composing  an  ode  expressive  of  calm  and  almost  super- 
human contentment,  the  blow  suddenly  falls.  No  poem 
marks  the  arrival  of  the  news  of  the  most  gentle  lady's 
death.  An  abrupt  pause,  a  quotation  from  the  Lamen- 


BEATRICE  121 

tations  of  Jeremiah,  a  terse  statement  of  the  event  and 
of  the  reasons  which  prevent  the  afflicted  lover  from 
singing  his  grief :  that  is  all  —  save  a  disquisition  on  the 
meaning  of  the  number  nine.  Only  after  this  discourse, 
and  after  mention  of  a  mourning  composition  (unknown 
to  us)  that  the  author  has  excluded  from  the  New  Life 
because  it  was  written  in  Latin,  do  we  come  upon  the 
poem  of  bereavement  which  we  have  been  expecting, 
Gli  occhi  dolenti  per  pieta  del  core.  Let  us  be  satisfied 
with  one  stanza  of  this  third  long  canzone,  the  strophe 
which  tells  how  Beatrice  died  neither  of  fever  heat  nor 
of  mortal  chill,  as  is  the  normal  death  of  mankind,  but  of 
her  celestial  goodness  and  fitness  for  Heaven.  Here  we 
find  the  earliest  occurrence,  in  Dante's  poetry,  of  the 
full  name,  Beatrice;  in  the  verses  written  before  her 
death  she  was  either  unnamed  or,  in  one  merely  com- 
plimentary sonnet,  called  by  the  common,  abbreviated 
form  of  the  name,  Bice. 

II 

Gone  forth  is  Beatrice  to  deepest  Heaven, 
Where  angels  ever  dwell  in  peace  on  high; 

To  live  with  them,  you,  ladies,  hath  she  left. 
No  quality  of  cold  this  grief  hath  given, 
Nor  yet  of  heat,  as  other  women  die : 

Her  goodness  only  hath  the  world  bereft; 
The  light  of  her  humility  hath  cleft 
The  circling  skies  with  all  the  power  of  love, 
And  wakened  wonder  in  th'  eternal  Sire, 


122  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

And  then  a  sweet  desire 
To  call  that  queen  of  blessedness  above 

And  bid  her  heavenward  from  the  earth  retire; 
Because  he  saw  our  sad  existence  here 
Was  far  from  worthy  of  a  thing  so  dear. 

Thereupon  ensues  a  curious  episode,  which  we  had 
better  hear  in  Dante's  words:  "After  this  ode  was 
written,  there  came  unto  me  one  who,  in  the  degrees  of 
friendship,  is  my  friend  immediately  after  the  first 
[Guido  Cavalcanti] ;  and  he  was  so  close  in  kinship  to 
this  glorious  lady  that  no  one  was  more  so."  He  must 
have  been  one  of  her  brothers,  possibly  —  always 
assuming  that  she  was  really  a  Portinari  —  the  one 
called  Manetto.  "  And  when  he  had  entered  into 
speech  with  me,  he  besought  me  to  write  something  for 
a  lady  who  had  died;  and  he  covered  over  his  words, 
that  it  might  seem  he  spake  of  another  woman,  who 
in  fact  had  passed  away.  Wherefore  I,  understanding 
that  he  spake  only  in  behalf  of  the  blessed  one,  promised 
to  do  what  his  prayer  requested.  Then,  pondering  over 
it,  I  determined  to  write  a  sonnet,  in  which  I  should 
express  some  grief,  and  give  it  to  this  friend  of  mine,  in 
order  that  I  might  appear  to  have  made  it  for  him." 
Not  only  a  sonnet,  but  also  a  short  canzone  was  com- 
posed, it  would  seem,  in  this  strange  fashion,  osten- 
sibly in  mourning  for  the  lady  chosen  by  Beatrice's 
brother,  but  really  inspired  by  the  death  of  Beatrice 
herself.  The  poems,  which  must  have  circulated  as 


BEATRICE  123 

elegies  for  the  other  lady,  and  perhaps  under  the  name 
of  the  friend,  are  apparently  inserted  and  explained  in 
the  New  Life  for  the  double  purpose  of  attaching  them 
to  Beatrice  and  of  dispelling  any  possible  mistake 
concerning  their  authorship. 

Familiar  to  all  is  the  picture  of  the  poet,  on  the  anni- 
versary of  his  lady's  death,  drawing  figures  of  angels  on 
tablets,  unaware  of  the  presence  of  visitors  who  have 
entered  while  he  was  absorbed  in  his  work  and  his 
memories.  "  They,"  he  relates,  "  were  looking  at  that 
which  I  did;  and,  as  I  was  told  afterwards,  they  had 
been  there  some  time  before  I  perceived  them.  When  I 
saw  them,  I  arose  and,  greeting  them,  said :  *  Another 
was  with  me  just  now,  and  therefore  was  I  thoughtful.'  ' 
On  this  theme  he  wrote  a  sonnet,  with  two  beginnings, 
Era  venuta  nella  mente  mia,  to  which  I  shall  presently 
revert. 

At  a  later  time,  seeing  a  band  of  pilgrims  traverse 
Florence  on  their  way  to  Rome,  he  was  moved  to  this 
reflection :  ' '  These  pilgrims  seem  to  me  to  come  from 
afar, 'and  I  do  not  believe  they  ever  heard  of  this  lady, 
and  they  know  nothing  of  her,  rather  are  their  thoughts 
bent  on  other  things  than  these  here,  for  perhaps  they 
are  thinking  of  their  distant  friends,  whom  we  know 
not."  And  he  wrote  the  following  sonnet: 

Ah !  pilgrims,  who  so  thoughtful  walk  and  slow, 
Intent  perhaps  on  nothing  near  at  hand, 
Come  ye  indeed  from  such  a  distant  strand 


124  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

As  your  impassive  faces  seem  to  show, 
Which  are  not  wet  with  tears,  the  while  ye  go 

Right  through  the  saddest  city  of  the  land 

Like  foreign  men,  who  seem  to  understand 
Nothing  whatever  of  the  city's  woe  ? 
In  sooth  my  sighing  heart  is  sure  of  this: 

That  if,  to  hear,  your  journey  ye  defer, 

Ye  shall  not  then  depart  without  a  tear. 
Our  mourning  town  hath  lost  its  Beatrice! 

And  every  word  which  men  may  speak  of  her 
Hath  power  to  turn  to  sorrow  those  who  hear. 

Between  these  two  songs  of  placid  grief  lies  a  troubled 
experience,  which  shall  form  the  subject  of  our  last 
chapter  —  the  compassionate  glances  of  a  youthful  per- 
son seen  at  a  window,  and  the  growth  and  eventual 
subjugation  of  Dante's  affection  for  her.  The  New  Life 
ends  with  the  final  triumph  of  Beatrice  after  death,  as 
it^ began  with  her  first  victory  on  earth.  The  last  poem 
of  the  book  tells  how  Dante's  thought,  piercing  the  ninev 

{material  skies,  —  even  the  outermost  and  greatest, 
vhich  surrounds  all  the  others,  —  rises  into  the  Heaven 
>f  spirit,  the  true  Paradise,  where  it  beholds  Beatrice 
n  glory. 

Beyond  the  sphere  which  loftiest  doth  aspire 
Passes  the  sigh  that  issues  from  my  breast; 
A  new  intelligence  which  Love,  distrest, 

Confers  upon  it,  drives  it  ever  higher. 

When  it  has  reacht  the  goal  of  its  desire, 


BEATRICE  125 

It  sees  a  lady,  honored  by  the  blest, 
And  shining  so  that,  blindingly  imprest, 
The  pilgrim  spirit  lingers  to  admire. 
It  sees  her  such  that  I  its  meaning  miss 

When  it  describes,  it  speaks  a  sound  so  faint 
Unto  the  grieving  heart,  which  bids  it  tell; 
I  know  it  speaketh  of  that  gentle  saint, 
Because  it  often  nameth  Beatrice; 

And  that,  dear  ladies  mine,  I  hear  full  well. 

"  After  this  sonnet,"  Dante  continues,"  appeared  to 
me  a  wondrous  vision,  in  which  I  beheld  things  which 
made  me  resolve  to  say  nothing  more  of  this  blessed  one, 
until  such  time  as  I  should  be  more  worthy  to  treat  of 
her.  And  to  this  end  am  I  striving  with  all  my  might, 
even  as  she  verily  doth  know.  Wherefore,  if  it  shall  be 
the  pleasure  of  Him  by  whom  all  things  live,  that  my 
life  last  a  few  years,  I  hope  to  say  of  her  that  which 
never  was  said  of  any  woman."  Xhe_monument  thus 
lovingly  conceived,  so  profoundly  planned,  and  erected 
with  such  toil  and  such  incomparable  skill  —  the  Divina 
Commedia  —  remains  to  this  day  unapproached  by  any 
otjier  wrork  of  art  dedicated  to  woman. 

In  Dante's  Comedy  the  "  blessed  one,"  as  we  have 
seen,  plays  the  part  of  divine  revelation,  guide  to  beati- 
tude.  But  it  is  not  W1th  t.hp  Tlpa/trW  nf  the  ffreat  mas- 
terpiece that  we  have  to  deal  just  now:  our  concern js 
with_the  "  most  gentle  "  lady  of  the  New  Life  and  of  the 
lyrics  not  comprised  in  that  "  little  book."  Is  Beatrice 


126  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

already  a  symbolic  figure  in  these  ?  Is  she  merely  a 
woman,  idealized  and  angelic,  or  is  she  the  impersona- 
tion of  something  abstract  ?  A  similar  problem  con- 
f rented  us  with  regard  to  Pietra;  and  in  her  case,  while 
we  were  undecided,  the  absence  of  any  indication  of 
mystic  intent  inclined  us  to  the  negative. 

To  a  certain  extent  the  Vita  Nuova  is  evidently  sym- 
bolistic, with  its  personification  of  love,  its  doctrine  of 
the  occult  significance  of  names  and  numbers,  and,  after 
the  author's  change  of  style,  its  attribution  of  super- 
natural qualities  to  the  beloved.  So  far,  all  are  agreed. 
Beyond  this  point,  however,  opinions  are  very  diverse. 
According  to  some,  the  "  little  book  "  is  simply  an 
autobiography,  discreet,  veiled,  made  up  of  details 
selected  in  view  of  a  preconceived  plan,  a  plan  devised 
to  give  the  impression  of  unity;  yet  fundamentally  true. 
In  the  opinion  of  others,  the  New  Life  is  a  sentimental 
novel,  containing,  no  doubt,  some  real  experiences,  but 
essentially  idealistic,  invented  by  the  author  to  illus- 
trate his  idea  of  feminine  grace  and  platonic  love. 
Others  still  are  convinced  that  this  same  work  is  not 
only  a  novel  but  an  allegorical  novel,  in  which  neither 
persons  nor  events  have  literal  reality;  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  this  allegory,  however,  they  can  hardly  deny  that 
it  is  somewhat  vague  and  rather  faintly  suggested  by  the 
text.  Finally,  some  maintain  that  the  incidents  related 
by  the  poet  are  true,  but  that,  when  he  composed  his 
book,  he  wished  to  allegorize  them  or  give  them  a 


BEATRICE  127 

mystic  sense,  and  that  he  arranged  and  more  or  less 
transformed  them,  to  make  them  fit  into  the  frame  pre- 
pared for  them.  This  opinion  is  strikingly  set  forth  by 
Professor  J.  B.  Fletcher  in  his  volume  on  Dante  and 
elsewhere. 

Which  of  these  hypotheses  is  the  right  one  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible to  find  an  explanation  that  shall  combine  two 
methods  of  interpretation  —  for  instance,  the  first  and 
the  last,  the  literal  and  the  literal-mystical  ?  Let  us 
examine  more  closely  the  work  itself.  We  find  in  it,  to 
start  with,  a  series  of  thirty-one  poems,  which  form,  so 
to  speak,  its  skeleton,  the  bits  of  prose  being  fitted  about 
them.  Furthermore,  these  poems  are  more  or  less  sys- 
tematically arranged ;  for  the  twenty-eight  sonnets  and 
other  short  pieces  cluster  about  the  three  long  canzoni 
which  dominate  the  central  part  of  the  book.  The  plan 
of  the  Vita  Nuova  is,  then,  very  definitely  and  artisti- 
cally designed.  But  there  is  another  principle  of  dis- 
position. The  author  plainly  implies  (and  we  have  no 
adequate  reason  to  question  the  correctness  of  his  impli- 
cation) that  the  sequence  of  the  poems  is  in  accord  with 
their  chronological  order.  What  Dante  professes  to 
offer  us,  in  this  book,  is  a  series  of  poems  selected  from 
the  verses  written  by  him  between  the  ages  of  seventeen 
and  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight.  These  poems,  we 
may  safely  infer,  were  already  in  circulation,  known  and 
discussed  by  his  friends  and  by  the  little  literary  public 
of  Florence.  It  was  probably  towards  1293  or  1294, 


128  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

some  three  or  four  years  after  the  death  of  Beatrice, 
that  the  chosen  pieces  were  gathered  together  by  their 
author  and  surrounded  with  a  prose  commentary. 

For  a  work  of  this  sort  Dante  found  a  model  in  the 
Provengal  song-books,  in  which  are  given  biographical 
details  concerning  the  writers  of  the  texts.  In  particular, 
it  has  been  convincingly  argued  by  Professor  P.  Rajna 
(Lo  schema  della  Vita  Nuova,  1890)  that  the  suggestion 
came  from  a  manuscript  of  the  works  of  Bertran  de 
Born,  which  presents  the  warrior-poet's  songs  embedded 
in  explanatory  matter  that  forms  a  continuous  narra- 
tive. We  have  reason  to  believe  that  such  a  manuscript 
was  kept  in  Florence  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and  we 
know  that  Dante  was  familiar  with  Bertran  de  Born. 
The  mingling  of  prose  and  poetry  is  found  also  in 
Boethius's  famous  treatise  On  the  Consolation  of  Phi- 
losophy, the  first  book  of  secular  philosophy  studied  by 
Dante,  as  he  tells  us  in  the  Banquet;  in  this  work,  how- 
ever, composed  in  prison  while  the  author  was  awaiting 
death,  the  prose  and  the  verse  are  presumably  due  to  one 
continuous  inspiration. 

At  the  time  when  Alighieri  conceived  the  plan  of  the 
New  Life,  he  had  read  not  only  Boethius,  but  some  of  the 
philosophy  of  Cicero,  and  he  had  followed  courses  in 
theology;  moreover,  he  had  been  matured  by  suffering 
and  meditation.  The  Dante  who  wrote  the  autobio- 
graphical prose  is,  then,  a  very  different  Dante  from  the 
one  who  composed  the  poems  (especially  the  earlier 


BEATRICE  129 

ones)  which  this  prose  expounds.  An  erudite  Dante  is 
this  commentator,  serious,  careful  of  his  reputation, 
steeped  in  mysticism,  full  of  Biblical  images  and  of  phil- 
osophical doctrine.  What  he  desires  above  all  is  to 
justify  his  life  before  others  and  before  his  own  con- 
science, to  read  into  his  juvenile  verses  a  depth  and 
unity  which  they  were  far  from  possessing,  to  bring  all 
the  emotions  of  his  youth  into  harmony  with  the  super- 
natural influence  ultimately  ascribed  to  Beatrice,  to 
transform  this  gentle  Florentine  into  an  angel,  to  dis- 
cover in  all  his  relations  with  her  the  sign  of  heavenly 
predestination. 

This  purpose  is  responsible  not  only  for  some  incon- 
sistencies and  obscurities,  but  also  for  a  system  of 
exegesis  which  discovers  in  each  of  the  poems  what  the 
author  would  have  put  into  it  if  he  had  written  it  at  the 
same  time  as  the  prose.  The  vague  presentiment  of 
grief,  expressed  at  the  close  of  the  first  sonnet,  becomes 
a  foreboding  of  the  death  of  Beatrice.  The  gallant  verses 
addressed  to  other  young  damsels  are  attributed  to 
fictitious  attachments,  invented  to  conceal  his  one  true 
love.  As  we  have  just  seen,  two  elegies  on  the  death  of 
an  unnamed  lady  are  explained  as  having  been  com- 
posed ostensibly  for  the  mistress  of  a  brother  of  Beatrice, 
but  really  for  Beatrice  herself.  The  new  affection  which, 
if  we  are  to  believe  a  group  of  four  sonnets  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  New  Life,  began  to  usurp  the  place  of  the  old 
love,  is  quickly  vanquished  and  cast  out — according  to 


130  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

the  prose  commentary;  whereas  the  evidence  of  the  Ban- 
quet and  the  Divine  Comedy  would  seem  to  indicate  a 
long  duration. 

The  most  curious  example  of  this  method  occurs  in 
the  introduction  to  a  little  poem  cited  in  the  chapter  on 
Matilda  (p.  58),  a  sonnet  which  is  manifestly  nothing 
but  a  graceful  compliment  offered  to  two  ladies,  the 
second  of  these  being  his  own  Bice  or  Beatrice,  the  first 
a  certain  Vanna  or  Giovanna  (that  is,  Joan),  surnamed 
"  Springtime,"  formerly  dear  to  his  friend,  Guido 
Cavalcanti.  In  these  pretty  verses,  which,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, were  widely  known  and  therefore  could  not  be 
overlooked  in  the  Vita  Nuova,  the  poet  had  to  explain 
why  the  name  of  Beatrice  is  second  and  not  first  —  an 
order  originally  due,  no  doubt,  to  the  dedication  of  the 
sonnet  to  Guido.  Here  is  Dante's  explanation :  "After 
this  empty  vision  of  mine  [the  feverish  dream  of  the 
death  of  Beatrice],  it  came  to  pass  that,  as  I  was  some- 
where sitting  thoughtful,  I  felt  a  quiver  begin  in  my 
heart,  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  presence  of  this  lady.  Then, 
I  declare,  there  came  upon  me  a  vision  of  Love;  for  I 
seemed  to  see  him  coming  from  the  quarter  where  my 
lady  dwrelt,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  spake  to  me 
joyously  in  my  heart:  '  Forget  not  to  bless  the  day  I 
took  thee,  for  it  is  thy  duty  to  do  so.'  And  verily  I 
seemed  to  have  a  heart  so  joyous  that  it  did  not  seem  to 
be  mine,  so  strange  was  its  condition.  And  a  little  after 
these  words  which  my  heart  had  said  to  me  with  the 


BEATRICE  131 

tongue  of  Love,  I  saw  coming  toward  me  a  gentle  lady 
who  was  of  famous  beauty,  and  was  once  much  loved  by 
this  first  friend  of  mine.  And  the  name  of  this  lady  was 
Joan,  save  that  for  her  beauty's  sake,  so  't  is  thought, 
the  name  Primavera  [Springtime]  was  bestowed  upon 
her,  and  so  she  was  called.  Then,  looking  after  her,  I 
saw  coming  the  wondrous  Beatrice.  These  ladies  passed 
near  me  thus,  one  after  the  other;  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  Love  spake  in  my  heart,  saying:  '  That  first  one 
was  named  Primavera  merely  because  of  this  coming 
to-day;  for  I  inspired  the  giver  of  the  name  to  call  her 
Primavera,  that  is,  prima  verra  [she  shall  come  before] 
on  the  first  day  on  which  Beatrice  shall  show  herself 
after  her  liegeman's  vision.  And,  shouldst  thou  care 
also  to  consider  her  first  name,  it  is  equivalent  to  Prima- 
vera; for  her  name,  Joan,  is  from  that  John  who  pre- 
ceded the  true  light,  saying:  "  I  am  the  voice  of  one 
crying  in  the  wilderness,  Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the 
Lord."  '  Furthermore,  it  seemed  to  me  that,  after  these 
words,  he  said :  '  Whosoever  should  wish  to  consider 
closely,  would  call  this  Beatrice,  Love,  because  of  the 
great  likeness  she  hath  to  me.'  Wherefore  I,  reflecting 
afterwards,  determined  to  write  thereof  in  rime  to  my 
first  friend,  —  withholding  certain  words  which  it 
seemed  fit  to  withhold,  —  believing  that  his  heart  still 
contemplated  the  beauty  of  this  gentle  Primavera." 

The  more  closely  we  examine  the  text  of  the  New  Life, 
the  more  clearly  we  perceive  what  extraordinary  trouble 


132  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Dante  has  taken  to  adapt  to  his  later  mode  of  thought 
the  poems  and  the  events  that  gave  rise  to  them.  And 
that  very  effort,  or  rather  the  difficulty  that  necessitates 
it,  is  a  proof  that  the  events  are  real,  not  invented  for 
this  book;  for,  had  they  been  fictitious,  there  would 
have  been  no  difficulties,  no  contradictions,  no  incon- 
gruities, there  would  have  been  nothing  to  accommodate 
or  to  explain  away,  since  all  would  have  been  conceived 
to  suit  the  poet's  idea. 

If  this  conclusion  is  justified,  it  permits  us  to  attempt 
to  reconstruct  sundry  little  episodes  which  the  author 
has  lightly  sketched.  Dante's  habitual  reticence  makes 
us  very  eager  for  knowledge  and  very  reluctant  to  let  go 
any  bit  of  information  that  he  has  allowed  to  escape. 
From  time  to  time  the  New  Life  opens  a  perspective,  all 
the  more  enticing  for  being  veiled,  and  discreetly  reveals 
some  scene  from  the  poet's  inner  life.  "After  this 
vision,"  we  read,  the  vision  being  the  inspiration  of  the 
very  first  sonnet,  "  my  natural  spirit  began  to  be 
obstructed  in  its  operation,  because  my  mind  was  all 
given  over  to  thought  of  this  most  gentle  one ;  wherefore 
I  became  in  a  little  while  of  such  frail  and  weak  condi- 
tion that  many  friends  were  grieved  by  my  looks,  and 
many  people,  full  of  envy,  already  were  trying  to  learn 
from  me  that  which  I  desired  wholly  to  hide  from  others. 
And  I,  understanding  the  mischievous  questions  they 
put  to  me,  replied  to  them  (at  the  bidding  of  Love,  who 
commanded  me  in  accord  with  the  counsel  of  reason) 


BEATRICE  133 

that  Love  was  the  one  who  had  thus  treated  me.  I 
spake  of  Love,  because  I  bore  in  my  face  so  many  of  his 
marks  that  this  could  not  be  concealed.  And  when  they 
asked  of  me:  '  For  whom  hath  this  Love  so  wasted 
thee  ?  '  then  I  looked  at  them  and  smiled,  but  said 
nothing  to  them." 

Presently  comes  the  scene  of  the  church  (p.  33)  and 
the  gentle  lady  who  sits  between  Dante  and  Beatrice, 
an  episode  introduced  to  account  for  a  series  of  amorous 
poems  addressed  to  a  young  person  otherwise  unknown 
to  us.  After  some  time  this  lady  had  to  leave  Florence 
and  go  to  dwell  far  from  the  city.  A  little  later,  "  a  thing 
came  to  pass  which  constrained  me  to  depart  from  the 
aforesaid  city  and  go  toward  those  parts  where  was  the 
gentle  lady  who  had  been  my  protection,  although  the 
goal  of  my  journey  was  not  so  far  away  as  she  was.  And 
albeit  I  was  outwardly  in  the  company  of  many  [the 
occasion  was  probably  a  small  military  excursion  against 
the  Aretines],  the  journey  displeased  me  so  that  my  sighs 
could  scarcely  relieve  the  anguish  which  my  heart  felt, 
because  I  was  withdrawing  from  my  blessedness  [from 
Beatrice,  who  remained  in  Florence].  Wherefore  that 
very  sweet  Lord  who  governed  me  by  the  authority  of 
the  very  gentle  lady,  appeared  in  my  fancy,  like  a  pil- 
grim lightly  clad,  and  in  mean  garments.  He  seemed  to 
me  downcast,  gazing  at  the  ground,  save  that  from  time 
to  time  I  thought  his  eyes  strayed  to  a  beautiful  river, 
swift  and  very  clear,  which  flowed  along  beside  the  road 


134  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

where  I  was.  Love  seemed  to  call  me,  speaking  these 
words:  '  I  come  from  that  lady  who  hath  been  thy 
protection,  and  I  know  that  her  return  will  never  be; 
and  therefore  I  have  with  me  the  heart  which  I  made 
thee  keep  with  her,  and  I  am  taking  it  to  a  lady  who 
shall  be  thy  shelter,  as  the  other  was.'  And  he  named 
her  to  me,  so  that  I  knew  well  who  she  was.  *  But 
nevertheless,  shouldst  thou  say  aught  of  these  words 
which  I  have  spoken  to  thee,  say  it  in  such  wise  that 
naught  through  them  be  disclosed  of  the  pretended  love 
which  thou  hast  shown  to  this  woman  and  must  needs 
show  to  another.'  '  In  fact,  the  sonnet  (p.  36)  on 
which  this  commentary  is  written  contains  not  a  syllable 
of  Beatrice,  of  beautiful  Arno,  nor  of  concealment  or 
pretence.  "  And,  having  spoken  these  words,  this  form 
of  my  fancy  vanished  all  at  once,  because  of  the  very 
great  share  of  himself  which  Love  imparted  to  me.  And 
with  face  almost  transformed  I  rode  that  day  right 
thoughtful  and  accompanied  by  many  sighs."  Here  we 
have  Dante's  later  version  of  a  shift  of  interest  to 
still  another  lady,  to  whom  his  attentions  were  so  per- 
sistent as  to  injure  her  reputation;  wherefore  Beatrice, 
as  he  tells  us,  "  that  most  gentle  one,  destroyer  of  all 
vices  and  queen  of  virtues,  passing  through  a  certain 
place,  denied  me  her  very  sweet  salutation,  in  which 
consisted  all  my  happiness." 

We  have  been  present  at  that  wedding  banquet  at 
which  Dante,  coming  unexpectedly  into  the  company  of 
Beatrice,  is  so  violently  excited  that  he  trembles  and 


BEATRICE  135 

almost  swoons,  whereat  the  ladies,  with  his  beloved, 
laugh  at  his  plight;  and  we  have  listened  to  his  tuneful 
expostulations.  We  have  overheard  the  conversation 
of  a  group  of  ladies  (perhaps  these  same  mocking  ones) 
who,  familiar  with  Dante's  experiences  and  verses,  criti- 
cize the  tone  of  his  poetry,  and  thus  bring  about  his 
conversion  to  the  "  new  style."  Passing  on  to  the  latter 
part  of  the  story,  we  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  poet 
"  on  that  day  on  which  was  completed  the  year  that 
this  lady  had  become  a  citizen  of  life  eternal."  "  I  was 
sitting,"  he  says,  "  in  a  place  in  which,  recalling  her,  I 
was  drawing  an  angel  on  certain  tablets;  and  while  I 
was  drawing,  I  turned  my  eyes  and  saw  beside  me  men 
to  whom  it  was  fitting  to  do  honor."  And  thus  did  the 
poet  address  them: 

That  gentle  one  had  come  my  thoughts  amid 
(That  lady  dear  who  maketh  Love  to  mourn) 
The  very  hour  when  your  desire  was  borne 

By  thought  of  her  to  watch  the  work  I  did. 

Love,  finding  her  within  my  memory  hid, 
Awakened  in  my  heart  so  anguish-worn, 
And  said  unto  my  sighs:  "  Go  forth  forlorn!  " 

And  each  one  sadly  went  as  it  was  bid. 

Then,  weeping  sore,  they  fluttered  from  my  breast; 
And  still  their  doleful  voice  doth  often  bring 

The  tears  of  pain  into  my  joyless  eyes. 
But  those  which  came  with  greatest  suffering 

Cried  ceaselessly:  "  O  noble  spirit  blest, 

'T  is  now  a  year  since  thou  to  Heaven  didst  rise." 


136  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

All  these  little  incidents  seem  natural  enough  in 
themselves,  and  even  more  lifelike  is  another,  of  which 
we  have  caught  as  yet  but  a  passing  shadow  —  the 
scene  of  the  sympathetic  young  person  at  the  window. 
Yet  something  in  the  way  of  telling  seems  to  shroud 
them  in  mystery,  and  we  are  left  with  an  impression  of 
unreality, wondering  whether  we  aie  listen  ing  to  factor 
to  fancy.  This~tmpression  is,  I  think,  due  to  two  factors : 
to  the  author's  discreet  vagueness,  which  avoids  precise" 
indication  of  person,  time,  and  place;  and  to~Eis~owh 
underlying  conviction  of  a  mystic  significance  ill  every- 
thing  that  concerns  Beatrice,  a  conviction  that  colors' 
his  language  and  leads  him  to  emphasize  coincidences 
and  hidden  meanings.  It  is  this  feature  of  his~style  that 
continually  lures  the  reader  in  pursuTF~oT~~an  ever 
vanishingallegory.  ~~~ 

Symbolistic  the  work  is,  in  any  case,  as  I  have  already 
said.  And  its  most  perplexing  symbol  —  the  most 
important,  too,  next  to  the  God  of  Love  —  is  the  num- 
ber nine,  a  mysterious  token  constantly  attached  to 
Beatrice.  More  than  anything  else,  this  insistence  on 
the  nine  has  tended  to  give  the  little  autobiography  a 
frankly  allegorical,  even  a  fantastic  air.  Let  us  examine 
the  passages  where  this  phenomenon  occurs. 

"  Nine  times  already  after  my  birth,"  we  have  read 
at  the  beginning  of  the  New  Life,  "  the  heaven  of  light 
had  returned  almost  to  the  same  point,  in  its  own  revolu- 
tion, when  first  appeared  to  my  eyes  the  glorious  queen 


BEATRICE  137 

of  my  mind  ....  It  was,  then,  almost  at  the  beginning 
of  her  ninth  year  that  she  appeared  to  me;  and  I  saw 
her  almost  at  the  end  of  my  ninth."  We  pass  to  the  first 
greeting:  ''  When  so  many  days  had  gone  by  that 
exactly  nine  years  were  completed  since  the  aforesaid 
appearance  of  this  most  gentle  one,  on  the  last  of  those 
days  it  came  to  pass  that  this  wondrous  lady  appeared 
to  me,  clad  in  a  pure  white  color,  between  two  ladies  who 
were  of  more  advanced  age;  and,  passing  along  a  street, 
she  turned  her  eyes  toward  that  spot  where  I  stood  very 
timid;  and  in  her  ineffable  courtesy,  which  is  now 
rewarded  in  the  great  world,  she  greeted  me  so  wonder- 
fully that  I  seemed  then  to  behold  all  the  bounds  of 
blessedness.  The  hour  on  which  her  sweetest  salutation 
reached  me  was  surely  the  ninth  of  that  day;  and  inas- 
much as  that  was  the  first  time  that  her  words  had  set 
forth  to  come  to  my  ears,  I  received  such  sweetness  that 
drunken-like  I  parted  from  men  and  took  refuge  in  the 
solitude  of  a  room  of  mine,  and  began  to  meditate  on 
this  most  courteous  one." 

It  was  after  this  greeting  that  Dante  composed  his 
first  sonnet,  the  one  that  he  sent  to  various  literary  men, 
asking  for  their  interpretation  of  his  dream : 

On  every  captive  soul  and  gentle  heart 

Before  whose  eyes  the  present  screed  may  go, 
Greetings  from  Love,  their  Master,  I  bestow, 

And  beg,  their  judgment  they  to  me  impart. 

Of  all  the  time  when  stars  display  their  art 


138  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

The  hours  bethirded  were,  or  nearly  so, 

When  Love  appeared  before  me,  nothing  slow. 
At  thought  of  him  I  still  with  horror  start! 
Joyous  to  see  was  Love,  and  he  did  keep 

My  heart  within  his  hand,  and  in  his  arms 
My  Lady,  lightly  wrapt,  in  slumber  deep. 
Then  on  this  burning  heart,  aroused  from  sleep, 

He  poorly  fed  her,  deaf  to  her  alarms. 
And  as  he  went  away,  I  saw  him  weep. 

The  commentary  adds  several  features  not  contained  in 
the  poem.  For  instance,  the  last  line  becomes:  "  After 
this,  it  was  but  a  little  while  before  his  joyousness  was 
turned  to  most  bitter  tears,  and,  thus  weeping,  he 
gathered  up  this  lady  in  his  arms,  and  with  her  seemed 
to  me  to  depart  toward  Heaven  "  -  with  a  plain  sug- 
gestion of  the  lady's  death.  Now  the  curious  and  rather 
ambiguous  phrase,  '  The  hours  bethirded  were,  or 
nearly  so,"  meaning  "  the  hours  [of  night]  were  reduced 
by  nearly  a  third,"  is  expanded  thus:  "  And  forthwith  I 
began  to  think,  and  I  found  that  the  hour  on  which  this 
vision  had  appeared  to  me  had  been  the  fourth  of  the 
night;  wherefore  it  is  clearly  evident  that  it  was  the 
first  hour  of  the  nine  last  hours  of  the  night."  Unmis- 
takable here  is  the  ingenious  effort  of  the  author  to 
introduce  the  number  nine  in  a  passage  where  this 
number  was  not  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  the  sonnet. 
In  the  three  following  cases  the  nine  turns  up  in  the 
prose  without  the  slightest  suggestion  in  the  verses 


BEATRICE  139 

which  the  prose  expounds.  In  the  first,  Dante  is  relating 
a  second  vision  and  a  colloquy  with  Love:  "  And  having 
pronounced  these  words,  he  disappeared,  and  my  sleep 
was  broken.  Then,  recollecting,  I  found  that  this  vision 
had  appeared  to  me  at  the  ninth  hour  of  the  day;  and 
before  leaving  the  aforesaid  room,  I  resolved  to  write  a 
ballad."  Again,  in  a  passage,  already  cited,  preceding 
the  dream  of  the  death  of  Beatrice:  "  Some  days  after 
this,  it  came  to  pass  that  in  a  certain  part  of  my  person 
there  fell  upon  me  a  painful  illness,  wherefrom  I  con- 
tinually suffered  for  nine  days  very  bitter  pain  ";  and 
"  on  the  ninth  day  "  the  delirious  vision  occurs.  After 
her  death,  having  yielded  for  some  time  to  a  growing 
love  for  the  lady  of  the  window,  the  poet  is  recalled  to 
constancy  by  another  dream  of  Beatrice:  "  Against  this 
adversary  of  reason  arose  one  day,  almost  at  the  ninth 
hour,  a  strong  imagination  within  me;  for  I  seemed  to 
see  this  glorious  Beatrice  with  those  red  garments  in 
which  she  had  first  appeared  to  my  eyes."  Always  the 
same  story :  no  nine  in  the  verses,  appearance  of  this 
mysterious  number  in  the  prose,  written  considerably 
later. 

The  prose  it  is,  too,  which  eventually  explains  to  us 
the  mystic  significance  of  the  curious  obstinacy  with 
which  this  number  pursues  Beatrice,  from  her  first 
meeting  with  Dante  until  her  death,  and  even  later. 
This  explanation  is  given  immediately  after  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  passing  of  the  "  most  gentle  one," 


140  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

which  comes  while  the  poet  is  composing  an  ode  in  her 
honor:  "  I  was  still  planning  this  canzone,  and  had  com- 
pleted the  foregoing  stanza  of  it,  when  the  Lord  of 
justice  called  this  most  gentle  one  to  glory  under  the 
banner  of  that  blessed  Mary,  whose  name  was  in  very 
great  reverence  in  the  words  of  this  beatified  Beatrice. 
And  although  it  would  perhaps  befit  the  occasion  to 
treat  somewhat  of  her  parting  from  us,  it  is  not  my 
intention  to  treat  of  it  here,  for  three  reasons."  We  may 
pass  over  the  three  reasons,  which  I  have  discussed  else- 
where. "  Nevertheless,  inasmuch  as  the  number  nine 
hath  many  times  had  a  place  in  the  preceding  words, 
seemingly  not  without  reason,  and  in  her  parting  this 
number  appears  to  have  had  a  great  place,  it  is  needful 
here  to  say  something,  for  it  seems  to  belong  to  the  sub- 
ject. Wherefore  I  shall  first  tell  how  it  had  a  place  in  her 
parting,  and  then  I  shall  assign  some  reason  why  this 
number  was  so  friendly  to  her." 

At  last,  then,  we  are  to  have  a  clue  to  the  mystery. 
First  let  me  say  that  the  death  of  Beatrice  occurred,  as 
the  following  passage  somewhat  enigmatically  tells  us, 
on  the  evening  of  June  8,  1290;  and  the  author  sets  him- 
self the  task  of  introducing  the  number  nine  as  many 
times  as  possible  into  this  date,  where,  to  the  uniniti- 
ated, it  seems  to  "  have  a  place  "  but  once.  From  his 
handbook  of  astronomy  —  presumably  the  Elementa 
Astronomica  of  the  Arab,  Alfraganus  —  Dante  learned 
that  in  the  Syrian  calendar  June  is  the  ninth  month; 


BEATRICE  141 

and  that  in  Arabia  the  day  begins  at  sunset,  the  close  of 
the  European  June  8  thus  becoming  the  start  of  the 
Arabian  June  9.  By  utilizing  this  information  he  turned 
the  one  occurrence  of  nine  into  three. 

"  I  declare,"  he  says,  "  that  according  to  the  usage  of 
Araby  her  most  noble  soul  departed  in  the  first  hour  of 
the  ninth  day  of  the  month;  and  according  to  the  usage 
of  Syria  she  departed  in  the  ninth  month  of  the  year, 
for  the  first  month  is  there  Tisrin  First,  which  is  our 
October.  And  according  to  our  usage  she  departed  in 
that  year  of  our  indiction  (that  is,  of  the  years  of  our 
Lord)  in  which  the  perfect  number  [ten]  was  nine  times 
completed  in  that  century  in  which  she  was  placed  in 
this  world;  and  she  was  one  of  the  Christians  of  the 
thirteenth  century  [in  other  words,  she  died  in  the  nine- 
times-tenth  year  of  the  thirteenth  century  of  our  era]. 
Why  this  number  was  so  friendly  to  her,  the  following 
might  be  a  reason :  forasmuch  as,  according  to  Ptolemy 
and  according  to  Christian  truth,  nine  are  the  heavens 
that  move,  and,  according  to  common  astrological 
opinion,  the  aforesaid  heavens  operate  here  below  in 
accordance  with  their  relation  to  one  another,  this  num- 
ber was  friendly  to  her  to  show  that  in  her  generation  all 
nine  moving  heavens  were  in  perfect  harmony  together. 
This  is  one  reason  for  it;  but,  considering  more  subtly 
and  in  accordance  with  infallible  truth,  this  number  was 
she  herself  —  I  mean  figuratively,  and  I  understand  it 
thus:  the  number  three  is  the  root  of  nine,  because, 


142  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

without  any  other  number,  by  itself  it  makes  nine,  as 
we  plainly  see  that  three  times  three  is  nine.  Therefore 
if  three  is  by  itself  the  maker  of  nine,  and  the  Maker  of 
miracles  by  himself  is  three  (to  wit,  Father,  Son,  and 
Holy  Ghost,  which  are  three  and  one),  this  lady  was 
accompanied  by  the  number  nine  to  show  that  she  was 
a  nine,  that  is,  a  miracle,  whose  root  is  the  wondrous 
Trinity  alone.  Perhaps  by  a  subtler  person  could  be 
found  in  this  a  still  subtler  reason;  but  this  is  the  one 
that  I  see  and  like  best." 

We  are  finally  enlightened  concerning  the  function  of 
nine;  that  is,  we  know  what  Dante  meant  by  this  num- 
ber when  he  was  writing  the  prose  of  the  New  Life.  We 
must  admit  that  this  passage  is  not  one  of  the  most 
successful  in  the  work  and  that  it  leaves  us  somewhat 
disappointed.  Why  has  the  author  taken  such  elaborate 
pains  to  dwell  on  a  symbol  that  seems  to  us  both  obscure 
and  superfluous  ?  Let  us  not  forget  that  the  New  Life  is 
not  only  a  eulogy  but,  at  the  same  time,  an  apology: 
while  it  is  a  collection  of  versified  praise  of  Beatrice  by 
Dante,  with  a  prose  commentary  intended  to  heighten 
its  effect,  it  is  also  an  attempt  to  give  a  favorable  sense 
to  all  the  author's  previous  poems  which  might  have 
seemed  disloyal,  whether  these  poems  were  or  were  not 
contained  in  the  book.  Furthermore,  let  us  remember 
that  in  the  explanation  of  a  certain  sonnet  in  which  the 
name  of  Giovanna,  Cavalcanti's  former  sweetheart, 
precedes  the  name  of  Beatrice,  Dante  attributes  this 


BEATRICE  143 

priority  to  the  etymological  meaning  of  the  first  name. 
Suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  he  had  not  had  at  his  dis- 
posal this  fantastic  etymology :  what  could  he  have  said 
to  excuse  himself  ?  Perhaps  he  would  have  maintained 
that  the  second  place  is  in  some  respects  more  honorable 
than  the  first  —  rather  a  difficult  contention,  in  view  of 
the  great  importance  of  one  in  scholastic  philosophy  and 
the  lesser  insistence  on  two.  If,  instead  of  two,  the  poet 
had  had  to  do  with  a  three  or  a  nine,  his  argument  would 
have  been  notably  easier  and  stronger. 

It  is  in  this  direction,  I  believe,  that  we  must  look  for 
the  origin  of  the  numerical  intruder,  of  this  nine  which  is 
justified  by  nothing  in  the  verses  collected  by  the  author. 
We  must  find  in  Dante's  poems  or  experiences  an  occa- 
sion on  which  Beatrice,  later  to  be  elevated  to  absolute 
sovereignty,  occupies  temporarily  an  inferior  position. 
If  her  place  should  by  chance  turn  out  to  be  the  ninth,  it 
would  be  a  token  that  we  were  on  the  right  path.  For 
the  best  method  of  reconciling  an  apparent  momentary 
inferiority  with  the  real  primacy  of  the  beloved  would  be 
to  prove:  (1)  that  nine,  the  symbol  of  divine  wonder,  is 
the  logical  representative  of  the  wondrous  Beatrice^ 
and  (2)  that  the  mysterious  affinity  between  this  num- 
ber and  the  lady  is  shown  by  the  continual  intervention 
of^the  nine  in  her  affairs. 

Now,  this  supposititious  condition  is  realised  in  one  of 
the  chapters  of  the  New  Life,  a  short,  unobtrusive 
chapter,  which  apparently  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 


144  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

rest.  It  tells  of  a  serventese  written  by  the  youthful  poet, 
a  work  which  unfortunately  has  not  come  down  to  us, 
having  perhaps  been  suppressed  by  the  author.  In  pass- 
ing, we  may  observe  that  the  term  serventese  is  applied 
in  Italian  to  a  certain  metrical  form,  instead  of  designat- 
ing, as  in  Provencal,  the  contents  of  the  composition. 
Here  is  the  chapter  in  question,  a  passage  upon  which  I 
touched  in  speaking  of  the  flower-ladies:  "I  declare 
that  at  the  time  when  this  lady  [the  lady  of  the  church] 
was  the  screen  of  such  great  love  on  my  side,  a  desire 
came  upon  me  to  try  to  record  the  name  of  this  most 
gentle  one,  and  to  accompany  it  with  many  ladies' 
names,  and  especially  with  the  name  of  this  gentle  lady. 
And,  taking  the  names  of  the  sixty  most  beautiful  ladies 
of  the  city  where  my  lady  was  placed  by  the  Most  High, 
I  composed  an  epistle  in  serventese  form,  which  I  shall 
not  copy ;  nor  should  I  have  made  mention  of  it,  except 
to  tell  the  marvelous  thing  that  happened  when  I  was 
writing  it,  namely,  that  my  lady's  name  would  consent 
to  stand  in  no  other  place  than  the  ninth  among  the 
names  of  these  ladies." 

According  to  the  hypothesis  which  I  venture  to  pre- 
sent, the  epistle  containing  this  list  was  written  by 
Dante  before  the  supremacy  of  Beatrice,  at  a  time  when 
she  shared  with  divers  other  damsels  the  young  poet's 
admiration.  This  poem,  being  fairly  well  known  in 
Florence  and  much  discussed  by  the  society  which  the 
author  frequented,  proved  to  be  a  serious  obstacle  when 


BEATRICE  145 

Dante  tried  to  convince  himself  and  to  persuade  others 
that  he  had  always  lived  under  the  influence  of  Beatrice. 
Hence  the  supernatural  explanation  of  the  ninth  place 
accorded  to  her  in  the  serventese,  an  explanation  which 
eventually  entailed  all  the  mystic  development  of  the 
nine.  If  I  am  right,  it  was,  then,  a  real  and  trifling 
incident  that  led  to  this  puzzling  piece  of  exalted 
symbolism. 

Recent  criticism  has  perhaps  discovered  in  one  of 
Dante's  famous  sonnets,  not  comprised  in  the  New  Life, 
an  allusion  to  the  lost  epistle.  The  poem  is  one  already 
cited  (p.  57),  the  so-called  "  Boat  of  Love,"  addressed 
to  Guido  Cavalcanti.  There  we  find  three  female  figures : 
Vanna,  cherished  by  Guido;  Lagia,  presumably  the 
sweetheart  of  Lapo  Gianni;  and  a  third,  unnamed,  who 
is  "on  number  thirty  "  —  which  may  mean  that  she  is 
thirtieth  among  the  sixty  fair  ladies  of  Florence.  This 
third,  then,  who  would  seem  to  have  been  the  maiden  of 
Dante's  choice  when  the  sonnet  was  written,  cannot  be 
Beatrice,  who  was  number  nine. 


V.    LISETTA 

IN  treating  of  Beatrice  we  had  to  discuss  the  question 
whether  the  Vita  Nuova  is  an  allegory  or  a  superfi- 
cially symbolistic  piece  of  writing  —  a  problem  which 
the  author  leaves  us  to  solve  for  ourselves  as  best  we 
may.  It  is  not  the  same  with  the  Convivio,  or  Banquet, 
an  unfinished  didactic  work,  whose  allegorical  intention 
is  explicitly  stated.  The  Banquet  was  to  have  consisted 
of  fifteen  parts:  to  wit,  an  introduction,  and  fourteen 
treatises  made  up  of  discursive  comment  on  fourteen  of 
the  author's  canzoni,  poems  which,  already  published, 
had  been  misinterpreted  by  his  friends.  It  is  apparent 
that  the  fundamental  conception  of  this  work  has  some 
likeness  to  that  of  the  Vita  Nuova;  but  the  Convivio, 
probably  written  between  1304  and  1308,  when  Dante, 
from  thirty-nine  to  forty-three  years  old,  had  acquired 
nearly  all  the  knowledge  accessible  to  his  generation,  is 
composed  in  a  thoroughly  utilitarian  spirit,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  instructing  mankind  in  the  principles  of  phi- 
losophy, politics,  and  most  of  the  sciences.  This  great 
composition,  presumably  broken  off  by  the  coronation 
of  the  emperor  Henry  VII  and  his  descent  into  Italy, 
contains  in  fact  only  the  introduction  and  the  commen- 
tary on  three  poems  —  that  is,  four  out  of  the  fifteen 
books  planned.  What  we  have  makes  us  wish  for  more. 

146 


LISETTA  147 

In  the  introduction  we  find  a  very  curious  and  occasion- 
ally eloquent  discourse  in  praise  of  the  vulgar  tongue. 
Extremely  interesting  is  also  the  glowing  defence  of  the 
Empire,  which  forms  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of 
the  fourth  book.  Equally  precious  to  the  specialist  are 
the  lessons  in  astronomy  and  in  metaphysics  that  throw 
so  much  light  on  the  Divine  Comedy  and  on  all  the 
psychology  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

These  things  we  must  pass  over.  We  cannot,  how- 
ever, leave  unnoticed  a  touching  personal  cry,  one  of  the 
exceedingly  rare  passages  in  which  Dante  complains  of 
his  own  misfortunes.  "  Alas!  "  he  exclaims,  "  would  it 
had  pleased  the  Director  of  the  universe  that  the  occa- 
sion for  my  apology  had  never  existed !  For,  in  that  case, 
neither  would  others  have  sinned  against  me  nor  should 
I  have  unjustly  suffered  punishment  —  I  mean  the 
punishment  of  exile  and  poverty.  Ever  since  it  was  the 
pleasure  of  the  citizens  of  Florence,  the  very  beautiful 
and  very  famous  daughter  of  Rome,  to  cast  me  out  of 
her  sweetest  bosom,  in  which  I  was  born  and  bred  up  to 
the  middle  point  of  life,  and  in  which,  with  their  good 
will,  I  long  with  all  my  heart  to  rest  my  weary  mind  and 
end  the  time  allotted  me,  —  ever  since  then  I  have 
wandered  as  a  stranger,  almost  as  a  beggar,  through 
nearly  all  the  regions  over  which  this  language  extends, 
revealing  against  my  will  fortune's  wound,  for  which  the 
blame  ofttimes  unjustly  falls  upon  the  wounded  one. 
Verily  have  I  been  a  ship  without  sail  or  helm,  carried  to 


148  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

divers  harbors  and  river  mouths  and  shores  by  the  dry 
wind  that  rises  from  painful  poverty."  We  find  the 
same  lament  put  by  the  author  into  the  mouth  of  his 
ancestor,  Cacciaguida,  who,  in  the  midst  of  the  elect  in 
the  heaven  of  Mars,  predicts  the  poet's  exile: 

"  As  once  Hippolytus  from  Athens  fled, 
By  cruel  Phaedra's  mean  devices  caught, 
Thus,  far  from  Florence  thou  shalt  make  thy  bed. 

This  is  desired,  already  this  is  sought, 
And  shortly  by  the  schemer  shall  be  done 
Who  plots  where  Christ  is  daily  sold  and  bought. 

The  blame  shall  fall  upon  the  injured  one, 
As  ever  here  below,  till  truth  be  shown 
By  punishment  which  truth  itself  hath  spun. 

Whatever  thing  thou  callest  all  thine  own, 

Most  dearly  loved,  must  thou  forsake  and  spurn: 
First  arrow  this  from  exile's  crossbow  flown! 

How  salty  is  the  savor,  thou  shalt  learn, 

Of  others'  bread,  and  tramping  up  and  down 
Another's  stairs,  how  hard  a  track  to  turn." 

The  Banquet  is  a  book  of  exile,  the  work  of  a  man  who 
seeks  in  study  and  philosophy  some  consolation  for  the 
outrages  of  fortune  and  the  slanders  of  men,  who  returns 
good  for  evil  by  enlightening  his  fellows.  What  are  the 
poems  he  chose  as  the  texts  of  his  lessons  ?  We  know 
only  the  three  actually  included.  The  first  and  second 
canzoni,  Voi  che  intendendo  il  terzo  del  movete  and  Amor 
che  nella  mente  mi  ragiona,  are  love-songs,  the  first 


LISETTA  149 

describing  the  struggle  between  the  old  affection  for 
Beatrice  and  a  new  interest  that  is  finally  victorious,  the 
second  singing  the  triumph  of  the  latter;  they  seem  to 
continue  that  series  of  sonnets,  in  the  New  Life,  which 
has  to  do  with  the  compassionate  lady  of  the  window. 
The  third  canzone,  Le  dolci  rime  d'amor,  absolutely  dif- 
ferent from  the  other  two,  though  outwardly  connected 
with  them,  is  the  versified  disquisition  on  nobility 
previously  mentioned  (p.  92).  Unhappily  we  have  no 
clue  to  the  remaining  eleven  poems  selected  by  the 
author  for  elucidation;  we  do  not  even  know  whether 
they  are  among  Dante's  extant  works.  On  the  other 
hand,  some  observations  he  lets  fall  justify  the  belief 
that  his  choice  was  already  made  and  that  the  general 
plan  of  the  work  was  outlined.  Moreover,  we  learn  that 
the  author  had  plotted  out  his  Latin  treatise  De  Vulgari 
Eloquentia,  likewise  unfinished;  for  he  tells  us,  toward 
the  beginning  of  the  Banquet,  in  speaking  of  the  swift 
transformation  of  dialects:  "This  subject  will  be 
treated  more  fully  elsewhere,  in  a  book  that  I  intend  to 
write,  with  God's  permission,  on  vernacular  composi- 
tion." The  Convivio  mentions  also  the  Vita  Nuova,  its 
elder  by  some  ten  years.  "  If,"  says  the  author,  "  in  the 
present  work,  which  is  called  Banquet  (and  I  hope  it  may 
prove  to  be  one)  the  style  appears  more  virile  than  that 
of  the  New  Life,  I  nevertheless  have  no  intention  of  dis- 
crediting the  latter  in  any  way,  but  rather  of  supporting 
it;  inasmuch  as  it  is  reasonable  that  the  one  should  be 


150  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

hot  and  passionate,  the  other  temperate  and  manly." 
Let  us  remember,  then,  that  the  author  of  the  Banquet 
does  not  discard  the  ideas  of  the  New  Life,  but  proposes 
to  lend  them  new  dignity  by  adapting  them  to  the  phi- 
losophy of  his  maturity.  As  to  the  title,  Convivio,  it 
means  a  banquet  of  knowledge  to  which  Dante  invites 
his  readers,  the  poems  being  served  as  meats,  the 
commentary  as  bread. 

Although  the  Banquet  was  composed  with  the  phil- 
anthropic intention  of  sharing  with  the  public  the  intel- 
lectual food  stored  up  by  the  author,  the  book  has  also 
another  purpose,  a  strictly  personal  one,  which  is 
carefully  explained.  After  having  discussed  at  length 
the  conditions  under  which  it  is  proper  to  praise  one's 
self,  Dante  adds  these  words,  some  of  which  I  have  cited 
before  (p.  103):  "My  motive  [in  discussing  my  own 
work]  is  fear  of  infamy,  and  also  desire  to  give  instruc- 
tion which  verily  no  one  else  can  give.  I  fear  the  infamy 
of  having  followed  such  a  passion  as  the  reader  of  the 
aforesaid  odes  conceives  to  have  ruled  over  me;  which 
infamy  is  removed  by  my  present  complete  account  of 
myself,  which  proves  that  not  passion  but  virtue  was 
the  moving  cause.  I  intend  also  to  show  the  true  mean- 
ing of  these  songs,  which  cannot  be  seen  by  some  unless 
I  tell  it,  because  it  is  hidden  under  the  figure  of  allegory. 
And  this  will  give  not  only  good  pleasure  to  hear,  but 
subtle  teaching  both  in  this  style  of  composition  and  in 
this  style  of  interpreting  the  writings  of  others."  We 


LISETTA  151 

have  already  considered  Dante's  explanation  of  the 
allegorical  method  (p.  68). 

Was  it  Dante's  intention  to  apply  this  method  to  the 
Pietra  songs  ?  What  would  we  not  give  to  find  out  ? 
Unhappily  we  are  condemned  to  ignorance.  The  only 
poems  that  we  know  to  have  been  chosen  for  this  treat- 
ment belong  to  the  series  of  the  lady  of  the  window,  a 
series  which  comprises  four  sonnets  in  the  New  Life,  two 
odes  in  the  Banquet,  and  apparently  some  other  bits  of 
verse  not  included  in  either  of  these  works. 

That  is  the  group  of  poems  which  we  are  now  to 
examine.  It  is  a  little  more  than  a  year  after  the  death 
of  Beatrice  that  the  sympathetic  young  person  in  ques- 
tion appears  for  the  first  time.  "  Somewhat  later,"  says 
the  author,  "  being  in  a  spot  where  I  was  recalling  the 
past,  I  was  very  thoughtful,  and  with  such  painful 
thoughts  that  they  made  me  outwardly  show  a  look  of 
fearful  dejection.  Wherefore  I,  observing  my  trans- 
formation, raised  my  eyes  to  see  whether  any  one  beheld 
me.  Then  I  saw  a  gentle  lady,  very  young  and  beauti- 
ful, who  from  a  window  appeared  to  be  looking  at  me 
right  compassionately,  so  that  all  compassion  seemed  to 
be  collected  in  her.  Wherefore,  inasmuch  as  the  un- 
happy, on  seeing  others  sorrow  for  them,  are  the  more 
readily  moved  to  tears,  as  if  pitying  themselves,  I  felt 
my  eyes  then  begin  to  desire  to  weep;  and  therefore, 
fearing  to  disclose  my  weakness,  I  withdrew  from  before 
the  eyes  of  this  gentle  one.  And  then  I  said  to  myself: 


152  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

*  It  cannot  be  that  most  noble  love  abide  not  with  that 
compassionate  lady.'  And  therefore  I  resolved  to  write 
a  sonnet,  in  which  I  should  speak  to  her  and  should 
include  all  that  has  been  told  in  this  explanation." 
Here  is  the  sonnet: 

My  eyes  beheld  compassionate  distress 
Unstinted  in  thy  gentle  face  appear 
When  thou  didst  watch  my  acts  and  bearing  here, 

Which  oftentimes  my  anguish  did  confess. 

Then  saw  I  clear  enough  that  thou  couldst  guess 
The  darkness  of  my  whole  existence  drear, 
And  in  my  heart  there  rose  a  sudden  fear 

Of  showing  through  my  eyes  my  feebleness. 

Forthwith  I  fled  from  thee,  for  tears  did  leap: 
I  felt  them  gushing  upwards  from  my  heart, 
Which,  seeing  thee,  was  so  disquieted. 
And  then  within  my  grieving  soul  I  said : 
"  Surely  from  her  that  love  doth  never  part 

Which  thus  compelleth  me  to  walk  and  weep." 

"  Afterwards,"  continues  Dante,  "  it  came  to  pass 
that  this  lady,  wherever  she  saw  me,  took  on  a  com- 
passionate expression  and  a  pallid  hue,  like  that  of  love, 
and  therefore  did  often  remind  me  of  my  most  noble 
lady,  who  always  showed  herself  of  similar  color.  And 
verily,  ofttimes,  not  being  able  to  weep  nor  relieve  my 
sadness,  I  would  go  to  see  this  compassionate  lady,  who 
seemed  to  draw  the  tears  out  of  my  eyes  by  her  presence. 
And  therefore  I  had  once  more  a  desire  to  write  words 
addressed  to  her."  The  words  were  these: 


LISETTA  153 

Love's  color  never  did  possession  take  — 

Nor  sweet  compassion's  look  —  so  wondrously 

Of  any  lady's  face  (who  oft  did  see 
Of  gentle  eyes  and  doleful  tears  the  ache) 
As  they  have  thine  possessed,  and  pallid  make, 

Whene'er  my  cheerless  self  appears  to  thee. 

By  thee  inspired,  a  thought  disturbeth  me, 
So  violent,  I  fear  my  heart  will  break. 
My  deathly  stricken  eyes  I  cannot  stay 

From  gazing  at  thee  time  and  time  again; 
For  they  would  weep,  and  constantly  do  try. 

Of  their  desire  thou  dost  increase  the  pain, 
And  they,  for  longing,  wholly  waste  away, 

But  cannot  shed  a  tear  when  thou  art  nigh. 

"  I  came  to  such  a  pass  for  seeing  this  lady  that  my 
eyes  began  to  take  too  much  delight  in  beholding  her; 
whereat  was  I  ofttimes  enraged  at  heart,  and  held 
myself  as  weak  indeed.  And  many  times  I  cursed  the 
fickleness  of  mine  eyes,  and  said  to  them  in  my  thought: 
'  Lo !  ye  were  wont  to  bring  tears  to  those  who  saw  your 
grievous  state;  and  now  ye  seem  to  wish  to  forget  it  for 
the  sake  of  this  lady  who  gazes  on  you,  and  who  gazes  on 
you  only  because  she  mourns  for  the  glorious  lady  for 
whom  ye  used  to  weep.  But  do  what  ye  may,  I  shall 
recall  her  to  you  very  often,  accursed  eyes;  for  never, 
save  after  death,  should  your  tears  have  ceased.'  And 
when  I  had  thus  spoken  within  me  to  my  eyes,  the  sighs 
would  assail  me,  deep  and  agonizing.  And  lest  this 
battle  which  I  had  with  myself  should  remain  unknown 


154  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

to  all  but  the  wretch  who  experienced  it,  I  resolved  to 
write  a  sonnet,  and  to  include  therein  this  horrible 
condition." 

"  The  bitter  tears  that  ye  were  wont  to  shed 
For  such  a  weary  season,  O  mine  eyes, 
Made  pitying  tears  to  other  eyelids  rise, 

As  ye  have  seen  and  I  to  you  have  said. 

But  now  methinks  ye  would  forget,  instead, 
If  I  my  recreant  self  should  so  despise 
As  not  to  spur  you  on  in  every  wise, 

Reminding  you  for  whom  ye  sorrowed. 

It  saddens  me,  the  frailty  ye  display, 

And  shakes  me  so  that  greatly  frighteneth 

A  lady's  face,  who  you  doth  oft  espy. 
For  never,  never  should  ye,  save  for  death, 

Forget  our  lady,  who  hath  passed  away." 

Thus  speaks  my  heart,  and  then  it  heaves  a  sigh. 

'  The  sight  of  this  lady  brought  me  into  such  a 
strange  condition  that  many  times  I  thought  of  her  as 
one  whom  I  liked  too  well.  And  I  thought  of  her  thus: 
'  This  is  a  gentle  lady,  beautiful,  young,  and  discreet, 
appearing  perhaps  at  Love's  behest,  that  my  life  may 
be  at  peace.'  And  many  times  I  thought  more  lovingly, 
until  my  heart  yielded  to  him,  or  to  his  argument.  And 
when  it  had  thus  consented,  I  would  bethink  myself,  as 
if  moved  by  reason,  and  say  to  myself:  '  Ah!  what  a 
thought  is  this,  which  seeks  to  comfort  me  in  such  mean 
fashion,  and  scarcely  permits  me  to  think  of  aught 


LISETTA  155 

else  ?  '  Then  another  thought  would  arise,  saying: 
*  Now  that  thou  hast  been  in  such  tribulation,  why  wilt 
thou  not  escape  from  all  this  bitterness  ?  Thou  seest 
that  this  is  an  inspiration,  brought  before  us  by  Love's 
desires,  and  coming  from  such  a  gentle  quarter  as  the 
eyes  of  the  lady  who  hath  shown  herself  so  compas- 
sionate to  us.'  Wherefore  I,  having  thus  more  than  once 
striven  within  me,  wished  again  to  write  some  words 
thereof;  and  inasmuch  as  the  battle  of  the  sighs  was 
won  by  those  which  spake  for  her,  it  seemed  to  me  fitting 
to  speak  to  her.  And  I  wrote  this  sonnet,  which  begins 
'  A  gentle  thought ' ;  and  I  say  '  gentle '  in  so  far  as  it 
spake  to  a  gentle  lady,  for  otherwise  it  was  very  mean." 

A  gentle  thought,  which  whispereth  of  thee, 
Comes  hither  oftentimes  with  me  to  dwell, 
And  doth  of  love  so  sweet  a  story  tell, 

It  makes  my  heart  surrender  utterly. 

Then  speaketh  soul  to  heart:  "  Pray,  who  is  he 
That  comes  and  cheers  our  stricken  mind  so  well, 
And  hath  a  magic  power  so  strong  and  fell 

That  not  another  thought  may  bide  with  me  ?  " 

"  O  timid  soul,"  the  heart  to  her  replies, 
;<  This  is  a  child  of  Love,  a  newborn  sprite, 
Who  unto  me  his  young  affection  brings. 
And  his  existence  here  and  all  his  might 

Proceeded  from  a  pitying  lady's  eyes, 

Whose  face  was  troubled  by  our  sufferings." 

"  Against  this  adversary  of  reason  there  arose  one 
day,  almost  at  the  ninth  hour,  a  strong  imagination 


156  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

within  me;  for  I  thought  I  saw  this  glorious  Beatrice 
with  those  blood-red  garments  in  which  she  first  ap- 
peared to  my  eyes,  and  she  seemed  to  me  young,  of  an 
age  like  to  that  at  which  first  I  saw  her.  Then  I  began 
to  think  of  her;  and,  as  I  brought  her  back  to  mind, 
according  to  the  order  of  past  time,  my  heart  began 
painfully  to  repent  of  the  desire  by  which  thus  weakly  it 
had  allowed  itself  to  be  possessed  for  a  few  days,  con- 
trary to  the  constancy  of  reason;  and,  banishing  this 
evil  desire,  all  my  thoughts  turned  again  to  their  most 
gentle  Beatrice.  And  I  declare  that  from  then  on  I 
began  with  all  my  shamed  heart  to  think  of  her  so  that 
sighs  often  revealed  it,  since  almost  all  of  them,  as  they 
went  forth,  said  what  was  spoken  in  the  heart,  to  wit, 
the  name  of  this  most  gentle  one  and  how  she  parted 
from  us.  And  ofttimes  it  came  to  pass  that  some 
thought  had  such  pain  within  it  that  I  forgot  both  the 
thought  and  the  place  where  I  was.  By  this  rekindling 
of  sighs  was  rekindled  my  suspended  weeping  in  such 
wise  that  my  eyes  seemed  like  two  things  which  should 
desire  only  to  weep;  and  often  it  came  to  pass  that  with 
the  long  duration  of  weeping  there  came  around  them  a 
purple  color,  which  is  wont  to  appear  for  some  agony 
that  one  suffers.  Thus  is  it  evident  that  they  were  aptly 
repaid  for  their  fickleness,  since  henceforth  they  could 
look  on  no  one  who  should  so  gaze  at  them  as  to  lead 
them  into  like  attachment.  Wherefore,  wishing  that 
this  evil  desire  and  vain  temptation  should  be  shown  so 


LISETTA  157 

destroyed  that  no  doubt  could  be  induced  by  the  rimed 
words  which  I  had  written  before,  I  resolved  to  make  a 
sonnet  in  which  I  should  include  the  substance  of  this 
explanation."  In  the  sonnet,  Lasso!  per  forza  de'  molti 
sospiri,  there  is  no  mention  of  the  lady  of  the  window, 
and  we  hear  no  more  of  her  in  the  Vita  Nuova. 

In  all  this  there  is  nothing  to  suggest  an  allegorical 
personage.  On  the  contrary,  one  would  say  that  this  is 
the  most  realistic  part  of  the  New  Life.  The  detail  of 
the  window,  for  instance,  does  not  look  like  an  invention 
and  scarcely  admits  of  a  symbolistic  interpretation. 
Then,  too,  the  psychological  development :  the  despair- 
ing poet's  interest  aroused  by  a  young  girl's  sympathy, 
the  longing  to  see  her  again  and  the  comfort  derived 
from  expectation  of  the  meeting,  the  fear  of  seeming 
faithless  to  his  dead  beloved,  his  self-reproach,  his 
efforts  not  to  fall  in  love,  with  the  usual  outcome  of 
such  a  struggle,  the  consciousness  that  resistance  is 
vain,  the  joy  of  this  new  affection  which  attaches  him 
once  more  to  life  (a  harmless  enough  affection,  no  doubt, 
guilty  as  it  appeared  to  him),  finally  the  sudden  facing 
about,  the  triumph  of  the  ideal,  the  return  to  Beatrice 
—  all  this  surely  gives  the  impression  of  a  real  experience, 
a  bit  of  actual  life. 

In  fact,  there  are  some  critics  who  go  so  far  as  to  con- 
jecture that  the  compassionate  girl  was  not  only  a  real 
person,  but  one  known  to  us  —  no  other  than  Gemma 
Donati,  who,  some  four  or  five  years  after  the  incident 


158  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

of  the  window,  became  Dante's  wife.  To  this  interesting 
hypothesis  there  are  several  objections.  In  the  first 
place,  we  possess  evidence  which  appears  to  show  that 
Dante  had  been  affianced  to  Gemma  from  childhood; 
in  which  case  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  he  would 
have  been  forming  a  romantic  attachment  for  her  at 
such  a  late  day.  Moreover,  we  may  infer,  from  his 
general  practice,  that  he  would  have  deemed  it  incon- 
gruous, if  not  improper,  to  introduce  a  semi-conjugal 
affection  into  this  daintily  idealistic  tale  of  his  love  for 
Beatrice.  His  family  affairs  he  always  kept  in  the  back- 
ground. Nowhere,  in  all  his  works,  does  he  mention  his 
wife  or  his  children.  Of  his  parents  he  says  nothing,  save 
that  they  spoke  Italian.  According  to  the  taste  of  his 
time,  one's  own  ordinary  family  emotions  are  too 
personal  to  figure  in  a  work  of  art. 

Nevertheless  I  am  convinced  that  the  perplexing 
creature  is  a  genuine  woman.  There  is,  indeed,  a  bare 
possibility  that  we  have  discovered  how  she  was  called : 
Lisetta.  At  least,  this  name  occurs  in  a  sonnet  by 
Dante,  not  included  in  the  New  Life,  but  apparently 
connected  with  the  group  just  examined.  A  charming 
lady,  it  tells  us,  passes  through  the  road  that  beauty 
travels  to  awaken  love  —  namely,  through  the  eyes; 
but,  on  reaching  the  tower  of  the  will,  she  hears  a  voice 
that  sends  her  away  —  the  voice  of  the  real  queen  of 
Dante's  heart. 


LISETTA  159 

Along  the  double  path  where  beauties  flow 

When,  waking  Love,  into  the  mind  they  press, 
Lisetta  marches,  all  misgivingless, 

And  thinks  to  capture  me  without  a  blow. 

As  soon  as  she  has  come  the  tower  below 

Which  opens  when  the  soul  within  says  "  yes," 
A  sudden  voice  that  damsel  doth  address: 

"  No  seat  is  here  for  thee,  fair  lady.     Go!  " 

For  she  who  now  so  queenly  sits  above, 
Once  to  obtain  the  wand  of  empire  tried, 

And  quickly  got  it  from  the  hand  of  Love. 

Seeing  herself  sent  back  to  whence  she  came, 
Excluded  from  the  place  wrhere  Love  doth  bide, 

Lisetta  runs  away,  all  red  with  shame. 

Although  the  tone  of  these  verses  is  entirely  different 
from  that  of  the  sonnets  in  the  New  Life,  the  situation 
is  identical.  The  playful,  somewhat  mocking  style  of 
the  poem  explains  clearly  enough  why  we  do  not  find  it 
admitted  to  the  collection.  Moreover,  the  mention  of 
the  woman's  name  would  surely  have  sufficed  to  con- 
demn it;  and,  in  fact,  there  exists  another  version  in 
which  Lisetta  is  replaced  by  una  donna,  "  a  lady."  The 
whimsicality  which  so  absolutely  differentiates  this 
sonnet  from  the  preceding  ones  will  be  observed  again 
in  a  later  poem  of  the  series. 

Up  to  this  point  there  is  nothing  to  make  us  suspect 
an  allegorical  intention.  And  yet  the  author  of  the 
Banquet  gives  us  to  understand  that  the  poems  of  this 


160  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

group  have  a  hidden  sense,  and  that  his  public  is  mis- 
taken in  thinking  that  their  motive  is  passion  rather 
than  virtue.  Now  let  us  consider  the  first  ode  of  the 
Banquet,  the  earliest  poem  for  which  Dante  actually 
does  furnish  an  allegorical  interpretation.  It  is  ad- 
dressed, not,  like  the  first  ode  of  the  New  Life,  to  "  ladies 
who  have  understanding  of  love,"  but  to  the  angels  who 
preside  over  the  revolution  of  the  third  heaven,  the 
sphere  of  Venus  —  to  the  celestial  beings  themselves, 
whose  earthly  symbols  are  these  same  ladies  of  the  Vita 
Nuova. 

Ye  who  by  thought  the  sphere  of  Venus  turn, 
Now  listen  to  the  discourse  in  my  heart, 
Too  strange  to  tell  to  anyone  but  you. 
The  sky  which  follows  your  celestial  art  — 
Since  all  material  instruments  ye  spurn  — 

Hath  brought  me  to  a  state  I  never  knew; 
Therefore,  when  I  my  altered  life  review, 
My  story  seems  to  suit  but  you  alone. 
I  beg  you,  gentle  creatures,  listen  well! 
The  strange  adventure  of  my  heart  I  '11  tell, 
How  sadly  doth  the  soul  within  it  moan, 
And  how  a  spirit  takes  the  other  side, 
Which  seems  adown  your  stellar  rays  to  glide. 

The  life  which  made  my  doleful  heart  rejoice 
Was  once  a  kindly  thought  that  often  went 
To  sit  beside  your  heavenly  Master's  feet, 
Where  it  beheld  a  lady  eminent, 


LISETTA  161 

Whose  glory  it  described  with  dulcet  voice 

And  made  the  soul  exclaim:  "  To  go  were  sweet!  " 
Now  cometh  one  who  maketh  it  retreat, 
And  ruleth  o'er  me  with  so  high  a  hand, 
My  palpitating  heart  its  fear  betrays; 
He  bids  me  on  another  lady  gaze. 
"  Who  wishes  blessedness  to  understand 

Must  look,"  he  says,  "  upon  this  lady's  eyes, 
Unless  he  fear  the  agony  of  sighs." 

A  foeman  he  hath  found  who  strikes  him  dead  — 
That  humble  thought  that  used  my  soul  to  fill 
With  praises  of  an  angel  crowned  in  Heaven. 
My  soul  laments,  her  pain  so  smarteth  still, 
Crying:  "  Ah!  woe  is  me!  how  he  is  fled, 

That  pitying  one,  who  solace  oft  hath  given! 
Those  eyes  of  mine!  "  she  sobs,  all  anguish-driven, 
"  Unlucky  hour,  when  they  by  her  were  seen, 
And  listened  not  to  what  I  did  reveal! 
I  said  to  them:  '  Surely  her  eyes  conceal 
The  one  who  slays  my  sister-souls,  I  ween.' 

For  all  my  foresight,  they  have  lookt  on  one 
So  murderous  that  I  to  death  am  done." 

"  Thou  art  not  dead,  but  only  sore  alarmed, 
O  soul  of  ours,  whose  words  are  full  of  woe!  " 

A  gentle  little  sprite  of  Love  doth  speak. 
"  For  this  fair  Lady,  whom  thou  dreadest  so, 
With  such  transforming  power  thy  life  hath  charmed, 
Thou  canst  not  bear  it,  being  grown  so  weak. 
Just  see  how  pitiful  she  is,  and  meek, 


162  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Discreet  and  kind,  despite  her  high  estate! 
Now  yield  thee  wholly  to  her  sovereignty; 
For,  if  thyself  thou  blind  not,  thou  shalt  see 
The  majesty  of  miracles  so  great 

That  thou  shalt  say :  '  O  Love,  true  Master  mine, 
Do  what  thou  wilt,  for  all  I  am  is  thine!  ' 

My  song,  there  shall  be  few  enough,  I  know, 
Who,  guessing  at  thy  meaning,  do  not  err, 
So  wearisome  and  hard  thou  speakest  it. 
If,  then,  by  any  chance  it  should  occur 
That  thou  before  such  men  and  women  go 
As  do  not  seem  to  understand  thy  wit, 
I  beg  thee,  lose  thy  courage  not  a  bit, 
But  say  to  them,  my  latest,  dearest  air: 
"  Ye  must  have  seen  at  least  that  I  am  fair." 

In  the  words  of  the  envoy, 

My  song,  there  shall  be  few  enough,  I  know, 
Who,  guessing  at  thy  meaning,  do  not  err, 

we  find  a  plain  suggestion  of  a  hidden  significance.  The 
double  meaning,  which  but  few  unaided  readers  can 
guess,  is  amply  unfolded  by  the  author  in  his  prose  com- 
mentary. After  having  defined  the  three  varieties  of 
mystic  interpretation,  he  proceeds  to  give  us  first  the 
literal,  then  the  allegorical  explanation  of  the  poem. 
The  literal  runs  as  follows:  "  After  the  passing  of  that 
beautiful  Beatrice,  who  liveth  in  Heaven  with  the 
angels  and  on  earth  with  my  soul,  the  planet  of  Venus 
had  twice  revolved  in  its  own  circle,  which,  according 


LISETTA  163 

to  the  two  different  periods,  maketh  it  appear  as  even- 
ing and  morning  star,  when  that  gentle  lady,  of  whom 
I  made  mention  at  the  close  of  the  New  Life,  first  came 
before  my  eyes  accompanied  by  Love,  and  took  some 
place  in  my  mind.  And,  as  hath  been  explained  by  me 
in  the  aforesaid  little  book,  rather  by  her  gentleness 
than  by  my  choice  it  came  to  pass  that  I  consented  to  be 
hers;  for  she  showed  herself  so  stirred  by  pity  for  my 
widowed  life  that  the  spirits  of  my  eyes  became  her  fast 
friends.  And,  having  become  thus  friendly,  they  then 
so  wrought  within  me  that  my  will  was  satisfied  to  wed 
itself  to  her  image.  But  inasmuch  as  love  doth  not  come 
forth  and  grow  and  attain  perfection  in  a  moment,  but 
requireth  some  time  and  food  of  thoughts,  especially  if 
there  be  contrary  thoughts  that  obstruct  it,  there  had 
to  be,  ere  this  new  love  should  be  complete,  a  long 
battle  between  the  thought  that  fed  it  and  the  one  that 
opposed  it,  which  latter  still  held,  in  behalf  of  the  glori- 
ous Beatrice,  the  fortress  of  my  mind;  for  the  one  was 
continually  reinforced  from  the  front,  the  other,  by  the 
memory,  from  the  rear.  And  the  succor  from  the  front, 
unlike  the  other,  increased  every  day,  preventing  in 
some  measure  the  sight  from  turning  backward.  All 
this  seemed  to  me  so  wonderful,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  hard  to  endure,  that  I  could  not  bear  it,  and  crying 
aloud,  as  it  were,  to  excuse  myself  for  my  strange  con- 
dition, in  which  I  appeared  to  be  lacking  in  constancy, 
I  directed  my  voice  in  that  quarter  whence  proceeded 


164  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

the  victory  of  the  new  thought,  which  was  victorious 
indeed,  like  a  celestial  power;  and  I  began  to  sing :  'Ye 
who  by  thought  the  sphere  of  Venus  turn.'  '  Then  fol- 
lows a  detailed  analysis  of  the  canzone.  For  the  dis- 
crepancy in  dates  between  this  narrative  and  that  in  the 
Vita  Nuova  an  ingenious  explanation  has  been  offered 
by  Professor  J.  E.  Shaw  (Dante's  '  Gentile  Donna,''  in  the 
Modern  Language  Review,  x,  129  and  320). 

We  pass  to  the  symbolistic  interpretation .  ' '  Inasmuch 
as  the  literal  sense  hath  been  sufficiently  shown,  I  must 
proceed  to  the  allegorical  and  true  exposition.  Begin- 
ning, then,  once  more,  I  declare  that  when  the  first  joy 
of  my  soul  was  lost,  whereof  mention  hath  been  made 
above,  I  was  left  wounded  with  such  woe  that  no  con- 
solation did  help  me.  Nevertheless,  after  some  time,  my 
mind,  which  was  striving  to  be  well,  bethought  itself, 
since  neither  my  own  comforting  nor  another's  availed, 
of  returning  to  the  method  of  self-consolation  followed 
by  some  disconsolate  ones  in  the  past;  and  I  began  to 
read  that  book  of  Boethius,  unknown  to  many,  in  which, 
outcast  and  imprisoned,  he  had  comforted  himself;  and 
learning,  furthermore,  that  Tully  had  written  another 
book  in  which,  treating  of  Friendship,  he  had  uttered 
words  for  the  consolation  of  Lselius,  a  most  excellent 
man,  for  the  death  of  his  friend  Scipio,  I  began  to  read 
that.  And  although  it  was  hard  for  me  at  first  to  enter 
into  their  meaning,  I  finally  penetrated  it  as  far  as  the 
art  of  grammar  which  I  possessed,  and  a  little  under- 


LISETTA  165 

standing  of  my  own,  could  go;  by  means  of  which 
understanding  I  already  had  discerned,  as  it  were  in  a 
dream,  many  things,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  New  Life, 
And,  as  it  often  happens  that  a  man  goeth  in  search  of 
silver  and  beyond  his  expectation  findeth  gold,  pre- 
sented by  some  hidden  cause,  perhaps  not  without 
divine  command,  so  I,  seeking  to  console  myself,  found 
not  only  remedy  for  my  tears,  but  words  of  authorities 
and  sciences  and  books,  pondering  on  which  I  was 
assured  that  philosophy,  mistress  of  these  authorities, 
sciences,  and  books,  was  a  thing  supreme.  And  I 
imagined  her  fashioned  as  a  gentle  lady;  nor  could  I 
picture  her  in  any  act  save  one  of  mercy.  Wherefore  did 
my  sense  contemplate  her  verily  with  such  satisfaction 
that  I  scarcely  could  turn  it  from  her.  And  from  this 
imagining  I  began  to  go  where  she  did  show  herself  in 
very  truth,  namely,  to  the  schools  of  the  churchmen 
and  the  disputations  of  philosophers;  so  that  in  a  short 
time,  perhaps  in  thirty  months,  I  began  so  to  feel  her 
sweetness  that  love  of  her  drove  forth  and  destroyed 
every  other  thought.  Wherefore  I,  feeling  myself  taken 
from  the  thought  of  the  first  love  to  the  power  of  this, 
opened,  as  in  wonder,  my  lips  to  the  discourse  of  the 
foregoing  song,  revealing  my  state  under  the  figure  of 
other  things.  For  of  the  lady  with  whom  I  was  falling  in 
love  no  rime  of  any  vernacular  was  worthy  to  speak 
openly,  nor  were  my  hearers  sufficiently  well  prepared 
to  have  so  easily  understood  my  undisguised  speech,  nor 


166  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

would  their  credence  have  been  given  to  the  true  mean- 
ing as  to  the  fictitious;  for  it  was  truly  and  fully  believed 
that  I  was  inclined  to  the  one  love,  which  was  not 
believed  of  the  other.  I  began,  therefore,  to  sing:  *  Ye 
who  by  thought  the  sphere  of  Venus  turn.'  ' 

What  are  we  to  think  of  this  apparent  contradiction  ? 
Have  we  been  mistaken  about  the  reality  of  the  woman 
whom  we  have  somewhat  fancifully  named  Lisetta  ? 
Or  did  Dante  himself  attempt  to  deceive  us  when  he 
made  her  a  symbol  of  philosophy  ?  Let  us  run  over 
rapidly  the  other  poems  that  look  as  if  they  might 
belong  to  the  same  group.  The  following  ballad,  which 
rather  seems  to  attach  itself  to  the  four  sonnets  in  the 
New  Life,  suggests  no  allegorical  conceit: 

Chorus 

Ballad,  attired  as  prudent  messenger, 
Go  forth,  without  unduly  lingering, 
To  that  fair  maid  to  whom  I  bid  thee  sing. 

How  feeble  is  my  life,  then  tell  to  her. 

Solo 

First  say  to  her:  my  eyes,  which  heretofore, 
From  gazing  at  her  image  angel-bright, 

A  wreath  of  fond  desire  were  wont  to  wear, 
Unable  now  to  look  upon  her  more, 

Are  so  destroyed  by  Death  with  sudden  fright, 
They  ring  themselves  with  garlands  of  despair. 
Alas!  to  gladden  them,  I  know  not  where 


LISETTA  167 

To  turn  them.     Thou  shalt  find  me  nearly  dead, 
If  I  by  her  shall  not  be  comforted, 
So  speak  beseeching  words,  her  heart  to  stir. 

The  figure  of  wreaths  around  the  eyes  occurs,  in  the 
New  Life,  in  a  sonnet  on  Beatrice,  immediately  follow- 
ing and  continuing  the  four  that  are  inspired  by  the 
compassionate  lady  (p.  156). 

The  sonnets,  Dagli  occhi  della  mia  Donna  si  muove 
and  Chi  guarderd  mai  senza  paura,  may  be  provisionally 
comprised  in  our  group;  and,  if  thus  classified,  may  be 
understood  as  referring  either  to  a  real  woman  or  to 
Lady  Philosophy.  In  the  first,  there  comes  from  a  cer- 
tain woman's  eyes  a  light  which  reveals  things  too 
strange  and  too  divine  to  describe;  the  dazzled  poet, 
intimidated,  resolves  never  to  see  her  more;  but  soon, 
forgetting  his  promises,  sets  forth  again  to  seek  her. 
The  second  tells  how  the  terrifying  eyes  of  a  "  little 
maid,"  or  pargoletta,  have  wounded  the  lover  unto 
death,  he  having  been  chosen,  from  all  mankind,  as  an 
example  and  warning  to  others.  These  two  poems  may 
perhaps  be  taken  as  marking  the  beginning  of  an 
allegorical  vein  in  the  series;  a  vein  which  appears  to 
continue  in  the  pretty  ballad,  lo  mi  son  pargoletta  bella  e 
nuova.  This  speaks  of  an  irresistible  "  little  maid,"  who, 
appearing  to  the  author  as  a  miraculous  tiny  angel  from 
on  high,  declares  that  she  has  descended  to  reveal  to 
humanity  the  things  of  Heaven,  her  beauties  being  new 
to  men  and  unintelligible  to  all  save  those  "  in  whom 


168  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Love  takes  his  place  to  give  pleasure  to  other  ";  but  in 
the  depths  of  her  eyes  there  lurks  some  one  who  has 
dealt  the  poet  a  mortal  wound.  Two  other  sonnets, 
Ey  non  e  legno  dl  slforti  nocchi  and  lo  maledico  il  dl  cti  io 
vidi  im  prima,  which  were  translated  in  the  chapter  on 
Pietra  (pp.  89,  90),  seem,  as  I  then  said,  to  be  most  aptly 
referred  to  Lady  Philosophy,  and  to  belong  to  a  later 
stage  of  her  supremacy. 

On  the  other  hand,  two  odes,  Amor  che  muovi  tua  virtu 
dal  cielo  and  Io  sento  si  d'amor  la  gran  possanza,  convey 
such  a  direct  impression  of  passion  and  despair  that,  if 
they  stood  alone,  no  one  would  ever  suspect  them  of  a 
secondary  meaning.  Taken  in  connection  with  the 
other  verses,  however,  they  present  one  doubtful  fea- 
ture: both  of  them  attribute  the  insensibility  of  the 
lady  to  her  extreme  youth,  a  trait  conspicuous  in  a 
couple  of  "  Pargoletta  "  poems  which,  as  we  have  just 
seen,  are  probably  allegorical,  the  youthfulness  of  the 
beloved  being  apparently  a  symbol  of  the  poet's  inex- 
perience in  philosophy.  Moreover,  in  the  first  of  the 
aforesaid  odes,  Amor  che  muovi,  —  a  prayer  to  the  God 
of  Love,  —  the  young  person  is  endowed  with  super- 
natural qualities;  and  the  second,  Io  sento  si,  which  is 
a  protest  of  utter  devotion,  contains  in  its  envoy  this 
peculiar  instruction  to  the  "  beauteous  song  ":  "If  any 
gentleman  invite  or  stop  thee,  before  putting  thyself  in 
his  power,  examine  whether  thou  canst  make  him  of  thy 
sect;  and,  if  not,  quickly  forsake  him."  A  third  canzone, 


LISETTA  169 

Ai  fals  ris,  of  the  type  called  in  Provengal  descort,  or 
"  discord,"  may  possibly  be  classed  with  these  two;  but 
it  has  little  importance,  being  more  than  anything  else 
a  metrical  and  linguistic  feat,  written  as  it  is  in  three 
languages. 

We  come  now  to  a  ballad  whose  allegorical  purpose  is 
well-nigh  unmistakable,  Voi  che  sapete  ragionar  d'  amore, 
the  most  curious  poem  of  the  group.  It  tells  of  a  cruel 
and  beautiful  lady  who,  conscious  that  Love  dwells  in 
her  eyes,  keeps  them  for  her  own  contemplation  in  her 
mirror,  and  will  not  permit  others  to  gaze  into  them. 
Thus  Philosophy  hides  her  deep,  alluring  truths  from 
the  discouraged  student. 

Chorus 

O  ye  who  understand  the  speech  of  love, 
Pray  listen  to  a  ballad  full  of  pain, 
Which  telleth  of  the  Lady  of  Disdain, 

Who  holds  my  heart  with  power  from  above. 


She  so  despises  him  who  looks  on  her, 

She  makes  him  bend  his  eyes  to  earth  for  dread; 
For  round  about  her  own  doth  ever  stir 

Of  cruelty  the  image  pictured. 

Within,  they  show  a  kindly  shape,  instead, 
Which  makes  the  gentle  soul  cry:  "  Pity  me!  " 
A  shape  so  wonderful  and  fair  to  see, 

It  pricks  the  heart  and  bids  the  sighs  to  move. 


170  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

II 

She  seems  to  say:  "  I  never  shall  be  meek 
To  anyone  who  looks  into  mine  eyes. 

In  them  I  bear  the  noble  Lord  they  seek, 
That  archer  who  o'er  me  doth  tyrannize." 
I  vow  she  hoards  them  as  a  precious  prize, 

That  she  alone  may  contemplate  the  two; 

As  I  have  heard  that  honest  ladies  do, 

Who  gaze  upon  themselves,  their  charms  to  prove. 

Ill 

I  have  no  hope  that  she  in  mercy  e'er 

Shall  deign  to  look  on  those  whom  she  doth  kill; 
For  she  is  cruel  e'en  as  she  is  fair, 

Who  Love  within  her  eyes  caresseth  still. 

But  let  her  keep  and  hide  them  as  she  will! 
Some  day  I  yet  shall  catch  that  saving  sight; 
For  infinite  desire  shall  give  me  might 

To  overcome  the  cold  contempt  of  Love. 

Surely  this  strange  poem  can  be  nothing  but  a  whim- 
sical allegory  setting  forth  the  pains  and  obstacles 
encountered  by  the  impatient  explorer  of  scholastic 
philosophy.  At  any  rate,  it  is  to  this  same  ballad  that 
reference  is  evidently  made  in  the  envoy  of  the  second 
canzone  of  the  Banquet,  entitled  Amor  che  nella  mente  mi 
ragiona. 

My  song,  how  different  thy  words  appear 
From  those  a  sister  thine  presumes  to  speak! 
This  Lady,  whom  thou  picturest  so  meek, 


LISETTA  171 

Thy  sister  "  haughty  "  calls,  in  accents  loud. 
Thou  know'st,  the  sky  is  ever  bright  and  clear 
And  in  itself  is  never  dark  or  bleak; 
But  oft  our  eyes,  for  reasons  near  to  seek, 
Declare  the  sun  is  covered  by  a  cloud. 
Thus,  when  thy  sister  called  the  Lady  "  proud," 
It  saw  her  only  as  she  seemed  to  be, 

Because  the  truth  was  not  uncovered  whole; 
For  timid  was  my  soul, 
And  still  so  timid  is,  whate'er  I  see 

Where  she  is  watching,  filleth  me  with  dread.  — 
Now  thus  defend,  if  needful,  thee  and  me! 

And  when  thou  canst,  before  her  bow  thy  head 
And  say:  "  With  thy  permission,  Lady  fair, 
I  go  to  sing  thy  praises  everywhere." 

The  ode  which  ends  thus  is  an  ecstatic  hymn  celebrating 
the  triumph  of  the  new  love  and  the  divine  glory  of  her 
who  inspires  it.  Even  without  Dante's  warning,  its  tone 
and  language  are  such  as  to  suggest  a  mystic  signifi- 
cance. It  is  the  crowning  poem  of  the  series,  and  reg- 
isters the  highest  point  of  exaltation  in  the  poet's 
enthusiastic  pursuit  of  philosophy.  Here  is  the  first 
strophe : 

Love,  who  discourseth  ever  in  my  mind 

About  my  dearest  Lady  longingly, 

Doth  often  say  such  things  of  her  to  me, 

My  understanding  cannot  make  them  clear. 
His  dulcet  song  with  such  a  spell  doth  bind 

The  listening  soul  that  drinks  his  melody, 


172  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

It  cries:  "  Alas!  Would  I  were  strong  and  free 
To  tell  about  my  Lady  what  I  hear!  " 
If  I  would  speak  of  what  is  said,  I  fear 
I  must  abandon,  at  the  very  start, 

What  mine  intelligence  cannot  conceive, 
And  of  the  rest  must  leave, 
As  far  beyond  my  speech,  too  great  a  part. 

If,  therefore,  these  my  rimes  be  halt  and  lame, 
Which,  praising  her,  shall  use  their  utmost  art, 

Our  feeble  human  wit  must  bear  the  blame, 
And  human  language,  which  hath  not  the  strength 
What  Love  declares  of  her  to  tell  at  length. 

The  Banquet,  you  remember,  was  left  very  far  from 
finished.  Some  strong  revulsion  of  feeling,  some  funda- 
mental change  of  interest  forced  Dante  to  give  up  the 
undertaking  on  which  he  had  spent  so  much  labor  and 
which  he  had  begun  with  such  zest.  One  manuscript  of 
this  great  fragmentary  work  contains  at  the  end,  as  it 
were  an  envoy,  the  following  sonnet,  composed  in  a  key 
quite  different  from  the  exultant  tone  of  the  ode  just 
cited. 

O  words,  which  thro'  the  world  your  way  do  learn, 

My  latest  born,  since  I  began  to  sing, 

In  praise  of  her  who  led  me  wandering, 
'  Ye  who  by  thought  the  sphere  of  Venus  turn," 
Go  straight  to  her  for  whom  I  used  to  yearn, 

And  let  your  cries  proclaim  your  sorrowing; 

Then  tell  her:  "  We  are  thine!  but  not  a  thing 
Shalt  get  henceforth  from  one  whom  thou  dost  spurn." 


LISETTA  173 

Stay  not  with  her,  for  Love  abides  not  there, 

But  go  about  in  mournful  garb,  as  sweet 
And  piteous  as  your  elder  sisters  were. 
When  ye  shall  find  a  lady  good  and  fair, 

Then  cast  yourselves  right  humbly  at  her  feet, 
And  say:  "  We  owe  thee  service  everywhere." 

A  striking  poem,  which  seems  to  show  the  weary  and 
disillusioned  student  renouncing  his  quest  of  philosophic 
truth,  and  ready  to  dedicate  to  a  worthier  mistress, 
whoever  she  may  be,  the  verses  composed  for  that  cruel 
lady.  It  was  perhaps  at  that  moment,  in  a  crisis  of  dis- 
couragement, that  Dante  laid  aside,  never  to  take  it  up 
again,  the  ambitious  enterprise  of  the  Banquet. 

Summing  up  the  results  of  our  search,  we  seem  to 
have  collected  some  eighteen  poems  which  fit  well 
enough  into  our  group,  although  we  have  for  only  six 
of  them  the  author's  own  assignment.  The  verses,  as 
far  as  we  can  determine  their  order,  arrange  themselves 
in  a  series  which,  simple  and  literal  at  the  start,  soon 
betrays  a  symbolistic  tendency,  and  ultimately  turns  to 
out  and  out  allegory.  If  we  consider  in  the  mass  all  of 
Dante's  poetry  that  is  devoted  to  Beatrice,  we  shall  see 
that  it  follows  a  similar  course.  This  development 
appears,  then,  to  have  been  in  accord  with  the  author's 
natural  bent.  First  Dante's  fancy  is  stirred  by  a  real 
person;  then,  having  come  to  regard  this  person  as  a 
symbol  of  something  abstract,  he  little  by  little  loses 
consciousness  of  the  reality  and  consecrates  himself  to 


174  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

the  cult  of  the  symbol.  Having  reached  this  last  stage, 
he  believes,  or  tries  to  persuade  himself,  that  his  whole 
experience  has  been  an  allegory.  Thus  the  sympathetic 
little  creature  who,  looking  down  from  a  window,  in- 
spired in  the  afflicted  poet  a  sentimental  affection,  was 
transformed  into  Lady  Philosophy,  "  daughter  of  God, 
queen  of  the  universe."  Lest  such  a  metamorphosis 
seem  to  pass  understanding,  one  must  remember  that 
Boethius,  in  his  Consolation  of  Philosophy,  Dante's  first 
text-book  of  philosophic  lore,  personifies  the  consoling 
science  as  a  marvelous  woman.  One  must  remember, 
also,  that  our  poet,  reduced  to  despair  by  the  loss  of 
Beatrice,  was  comforted  at  the  same  time  by  the  study 
of  philosophy  and  by  the  commiseration  of  a  young 
girl. 

We  may  conclude,  then,  that  the  author  of  the  Ban- 
quet was  right  in  attributing  to  the  odes  in  that  work  an 
allegorical  sense,  and  that  his  friends  were  equally 
justified  in  believing  in  the  reality  of  the  emotion  which 
had  inspired  the  sonnets  in  the  New  Life.  The  friends 
were  mistaken,  however,  it  would  seem,  in  extending 
the  realistic  meaning  to  the  whole  series;  and  Dante, 
perhaps,  was  deceiving  himself  when  he  carried  back  the 
allegory  to  the  episode  described  in  the  Vita  Nuova.  For, 
despite  all  efforts  to  reconcile  the  earlier  and  the  later 
narrative,  the  statement  in  the  Convivio  still  seems  mani- 
festly to  imply  that  the  incident  is  allegorical  from  the 
beginning,  that  the  element  of  material  love  never  en- 


LISETTA  175 

tered  into  it,  and  that  the  "  gentle  lady  "  is  a  symbolistic 
invention. 

Was  the  author  wholly  sincere  ?  Had  he  quite  con- 
vinced himself  ?  If  so,  we  are  somewhat  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  reproaches  addressed  to  him  by  the  dis- 
embodied Beatrice,  whom,  on  his  mystic  journey,  he 
meets  again  in  the  Earthly  Paradise,  at  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  of  Purgatory.  Here  is  the  scene,  as 
Longfellow  translates  it: 

"  Look  at  me  well;  in  sooth  I  'm  Beatrice! 

How  didst  thou  deign  to  come  unto  the  Mountain  ? 

Didst  thou  not  know  that  man  is  happy  here  ?  " 
Mine  eyes  fell  downward  into  the  clear  fountain, 

But,  seeing  myself  therein,  I  sought  the  grass, 

So  great  a  shame  did  weigh  my  forehead  down. 
As  to  the  son  the  mother  seems  superb, 

So  she  appeared  to  me;  for  somewhat  bitter 

Tasteth  the  savour  of  severe  compassion. 
Silent  became  she,  and  the  Angels  sang 

Suddenly,  "  In  te,  Domlne,  speravi:  " 

But  beyond  pedes  meos  did  not  pass. 
Even  as  the  snow  among  the  living  rafters 

Upon  the  back  of  Italy  congeals, 

Blown  on  and  drifted  by  Sclavonian  winds, 
And  then,  dissolving,  trickles  through  itself 

Whene'er  the  land  that  loses  shadow  breathes, 

So  that  it  seems  a  fire  that  melts  a  taper; 
E'en  thus  was  I  without  a  tear  or  sigh, 

Before  the  song  of  those  who  sing  for  ever 


176  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

After  the  music  of  eternal  spheres. 

But  when  I  heard  in  their  sweet  melodies 
Compassion  for  me,  more  than  had  they  said 
"  O  wherefore,  lady,  dost  thou  thus  upbraid  him  ?  " 

The  ice,  that  was  about  my  heart  congealed, 
To  air  and  water  changed,  and  in  my  anguish 
Through  mouth  and  eyes  came  gushing  from  my  breast. 

She,  on  the  right-hand  border  of  the  car 
Still  firmly  standing,  to  those  holy  beings 
Thus  her  discourse  directed  afterwards: 
'  Ye  keep  your  watch  in  the  eternal  day, 

So  that  nor  night  nor  sleep  can  steal  from  you 
One  step  the  ages  make  upon  their  path; 

Therefore  my  answer  is  with  greater  care 

That  he  may  hear  me  who  is  weeping  yonder, 
So  that  the  sin  and  dole  be  of  one  measure. 

Not  only  by  the  work  of  those  great  wheels, 
That  destine  every  seed  unto  some  end, 
According  as  the  stars  are  in  conjunction, 

But  by  the  largess  of  celestial  graces, 

Which  have  such  lofty  vapours  for  their  rain 
That  near  to  them  our  sight  approaches  not, 

Such  had  this  man  become  in  his  new  life 
Potentially,  that  every  righteous  habit 
Would  have  made  admirable  proof  in  him; 

But  so  much  more  malignant  and  more  savage 
Becomes  the  land  untilled  and  with  bad  seed, 
The  more  good  earthly  vigour  it  possesses. 

Some  time  did  I  sustain  him  with  my  look; 
Revealing  unto  him  my  youthful  eyes, 


LISETTA  177 

I  led  him  with  me  turned  in  the  right  way. 

As  soon  as  ever  of  my  second  age 

I  was  upon  the  threshold  and  changed  life, 
Himself  from  me  he  took  and  gave  to  others. 

When  from  the  flesh  to  spirit  I  ascended, 
And  beauty  and  virtue  were  in  me  increased, 
I  was  to  him  less  dear  and  less  delightful; 

And  into  ways  untrue  he  turned  his  steps, 
Pursuing  the  false  images  of  good, 
That  never  any  promises  fulfil; 

Nor  prayer  for  inspiration  me  availed, 

By  means  of  which  in  dreams  and  otherwise 
I  called  him  back,  so  little  did  he  heed  them. 

So  low  he  fell,  that  all  appliances 
For  his  salvation  were  already  short, 
Save  showing  him  the  people  of  perdition. 

For  this  I  visited  the  gates  of  death, 

And  unto  him,  who  so  far  up  has  led  him, 
My  intercessions  were  with  weeping  borne. 

God's  lofty  fiat  would  be  violated, 

If  Lethe  should  be  passed,  and  if  such  viands 
Should  tasted  be,  withouten  any  scot 

Of  penitence,  that  gushes  forth  in  tears." 

What  is  the  fault  that  deserves  such  reproof  ?  Surely 
not  the  poet's  devotion  to  philosophy,  handmaid  of 
theology:  that  is  no  sin;  else  were  St.  Thomas  Aquinas 
an  archsinner.  Dante's  guilt,  in  the  eyes  of  Beatrice, 
consists,  first,  in  his  weakly  yielding  to  a  love  —  a  real 
love  —  which  his  conscience  did  not  approve;  and, 


178  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

secondly,  in  harboring  a  mundane  spirit,  a  worldly  pride 
that  attempted  to  hide  a  shortcoming  under  the  cloak 
of  allegory.  Let  us  again  turn  to  Longfellow's  version : 

"  O  thou  who  art  beyond  the  sacred  river," 
Turning  to  me  the  point  of  her  discourse, 
That  edgewise  even  had  seemed  to  me  so  keen, 

She  recommenced,  continuing  without  pause, 
"  Say,  say  if  this  be  true;  to  such  a  charge 
Thy  own  confession  needs  must  be  conjoined." 

My  faculties  were  in  such  great  confusion 

That  the  voice  moved,  but  sooner  was  extinct 
Than  by  its  organs  it  was  set  at  large. 

Awhile  she  waited;  then  she  said:  "  What  thinkest  ? 
Answer  me;  for  the  mournful  memories 
In  thee  not  yet  are  by  the  waters  injured." 

Confusion  and  dismay  together  mingled 

Forced  such  a  Yes !  from  out  my  mouth,  that  sight 
Was  needful  to  the  understanding  of  it. 

Even  as  a  crossbow  breaks,  when  't  is  discharged 
Too  tensely  drawn,  the  bowstring  and  the  bow, 
And  with  less  force  the  arrow  hits  the  mark, 

So  I  gave  way  beneath  that  heavy  burden, 
Outpouring  in  a  torrent  tears  and  sighs, 
And  the  voice  flagged  upon  its  passage  forth. 

Whence  she  to  me:  "  In  those  desires  of  mine 
Which  led  thee  to  the  loving  of  that  good 
Beyond  which  there  is  nothing  to  aspire  to, 

What  trenches  lying  traverse  or  what  chains 
Didst  thou  discover,  that  of  passing  onward 


LISETTA  179 

Thou  shouldst  have  thus  despoiled  thee  of  the  hope  ? 
And  what  allurements  or  what  vantages 

Upon  the  forehead  of  the  others  showed, 

That  thou  shouldst  turn  thy  footsteps  unto  them  ?  " 
After  the  heaving  of  a  bitter  sigh, 

Hardly  had  I  the  voice  to  make  response, 

And  with  fatigue  my  lips  did  fashion  it. 
Weeping  I  said:  "  The  things  that  present  were 

With  their  false  pleasure  turned  aside  my  steps, 

Soon  as  your  countenance  concealed  itself." 

Concealment  of  guilt,  Beatrice  declares,  would  have 
been  vain,  since  God  sees  all;  but  when  confession  is 
free  and  full,  justice  is  tempered  with  mercy.  Never- 
theless she  adds  a  warning: 

To  make  thee  more  ashamed  of  going  wrong 
And,  if  again  the  Sirens  thou  shouldst  hear, 
To  make  thy  soul  a  second  time  more  strong, 

I  bid  thee  list,  and  cease  to  sow  the  tear: 
Learn  why  my  body  buried  underground 
Should  have  impelled  thee  wordly  joys  to  fear. 

In  art  or  nature  never  charm  was  found 
To  match  my  former  lovely  covering, 
Which  now  in  earth  is  scattered  all  around. 

When  I  was  dead  and  gone,  what  mortal  thing 
(Life's  fairest  charm  having  eluded  thee) 
Should  e'er  have  drawn  to  it  thy  chasing  wing  ? 

When  wounded  first  by  life's  inconstancy, 
Seeing  that  I  was  constant  evermore, 
Thou  shouldst  have  spread  thy  pinions  after  me. 


180  THE  LADIES  OF  DANTE'S  LYRICS 

Thou  shouldst  have  suffered  naught  thy  plumes  to  lower 
To  wait  for  further  hurt  —  nor  little  maid 
Nor  other  vanity  so  quickly  o'er. 

Or,  in  Dante's  own  words: 

Non  ti  dovea  gravar  le  penne  in  giuso, 
Ad  aspettar  piu  colpi,  o  pargoletta 
0  altra  vanitd  di  si  breve  uso. 

Pargoletta,  "  little  maid,"  is  a  word  which  we  have 
found  more  than  once  applied  by  the  poet,  in  his  lyric 
verse,  to  the  damsel  who  represents  philosophy;  and 
the  repetition  of  the  term  in  this  solemn  passage  of  the 
Divine  Comedy  is  evidently  not  without  special  inten- 
tion. It  is  likely  enough  that  in  Dante's  literary  circle 
the  whole  discussion  over  the  meaning  of  the  group  of 
poems  in  question  had  turned  on  this  "  Pargoletta,"  on 
the  reality  or  non-reality  of  the  person  designated  by  it. 
By  calling  this  maiden  a  "  vanity  so  quickly  o'er," 
Beatrice  appears  to  take  her  stand  with  Dante's  critics 
and  against  the  Dante  of  the  Banquet.  Like  the  critics, 
she  interprets  the  "  little  maid,"  not  as  philosophy, 
"  queen  of  the  universe,  most  noble  and  most  beautiful 
daughter  of  God,"  but  as  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Vainly  has  the  poet  striven  to  assure  himself  of  the 
innocence  of  his  devotion  to  her:  he  is  compelled  at  last 
to  admit  that  in  his  love  for  the  "  gentle  lady  "  there  was 
something  guilty.  Let  us,  in  conclusion,  cite  an  incident 
of  the  colloquy  in  Eden,  a  detail  which,  in  the  new  light 


LISETTA  181 

just  acquired,  takes  on  a  deep  significance.  After  hav- 
ing drunk  of  Lethe,  which  effaces  the  memory  of  sin, 
and  of  sin  alone,  Dante  suddenly  asks  Beatrice  why  she 
speaks  a  language  so  difficult  to  comprehend. 

"  In  order,"  thus  she  said,  "  thyself  to  teach 
What  fashion  thou  has  followed,  how  doth  plod 
Its  futile  teaching  far  behind  my  speech; 

To  show  your  human  way  from  that  of  God 
As  distant  as  the  highest  canopy, 
The  swiftest  heaven,  is  far  from  earthly  clod." 

Then  I  replied:  "  I  have  no  memory 
That  ever  I  from  your  control  did  stray. 
I  have  no  conscience  that  rebuketh  me." 

"  Now,  canst  thou  not  recall  thine  altered  way," 
She  smiling  said,  "  the  consequence  admire: 
Reflect,  of  Lethe  thou  hast  drunk  to-day; 

And  if  from  seeing  smoke  we  argue  fire, 
Thy  new  forgetfulness  is  evidence 
That  guilty  was  the  change  in  thy  desire." 


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